In Need, Indeed
by Frosty Autumn
Summary: Marianne is friendless, gutless, and wandless. Abandoned by friends and ignored by her brother, it gets lonely. Friendship is something she wishes she could be brave enough for. But one night when Harry, Ron, and Hermione sneak out, she is compelled to do what only a friend would do.
1. History of Magic

It hadn't always been this way. There was a time when Marianne had a friend that would be by her side, but not for some time now. She walked briskly through the crowded corridor, side-stepping several students to make it to History of Magic before she was late.

There was a sharp chill hanging in the air, possibly from a crack in the stone walls. Marianne shivered to create some warmth in her body but it was useless. The cold within the castle seemed to be constant these days, and she hoped that a well-fed fireplace would be waiting for the Gryffindors by the time they returned to their common room.

Marianne's white-blond hair flew behind her as she quickened her step. Spotting the classroom door, she slipped through it just in time for the bell. At first she was pleased with herself, but became uncomfortable when her fellow third-years turned to look at her. The stares were merely reflex in seeing who entered the classroom rather than interest in Marianne herself, yet she still felt self-conscious as she lowered into her usual seat in the far back corner. Immediately her classmates' attention drew back to their conversations as if nothing disturbed them.

Marianne wistfully glanced down at the swirling wood patterns of her desk, wishing that she could be a part of their conversations. Anyone's conversation, really. It felt so long since there was someone to talk to or confide in. Finding a way to keep friends always seemed to be out of reach. As time passed, they would gradually fade away and Marianne would rarely find them again. Were they purposely avoiding her? Even her brother, Ormond, didn't see her that often; however, she understood that his position as Head-Boy, and the fact that he was a seventh-year, left him distant. He spent most of his time within a bundle of friends and admirers anyway.

Interrupting the chatter, Professor Binns chose that moment to glide in through the chalkboard, his notes and books already prepared on his desk. The Gryffindors had barely composed themselves before Binns started speaking. Parvati and Lavender shared one last giggle before turning forward.

"Last lesson, we began the chapter on goblin serial killers," he said in his dry monotone, "can any of you tell me the most famous of them?".

Marianne and Hermione's hands both promptly shot up into the air.

"Miss Graham," their teacher said, inclining his head at Hermione.

"Yardley Platt", she answered easily, not bothering to correct the professor on her name.

"Very good." Binns looked down at his notes, the lull already setting in. "Born in 1446..."

Marianne lowered her hand, feeling deflated. Professor Binns did not ask questions often, but when he did, Marianne would know the answer. Unfortunately for her, Hermione would, too, and she would usually be called upon. Marianne didn't feel any bitterness towards the other girl, but she did feel disappointed. History of Magic was the only subject she truly excelled at. Historical dates and names came more naturally than wrist movements and incantations; though Marianne still wished her wandwork would improve. She felt no pride in that aspect.

Her classmates all took out a piece of parchment and had their quills prepared for taking notes. Marianne made to reach into her bag at her feet when she felt nothing but air. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly as she realized that in her hurry to reach the classroom, she had completely forgotten to take her bag with her. She shut her eyes tight, mentally scolding herself for easily forgetting something so simple. Swivelling her head, she desperately looked to the nearest person.

"Erm, Lavender?" Marianne whispered timidly, leaning towards the girl, "could I borrow an extra quill and parchment from you?".

"Haven't got any," Lavender said plainly without looking up.

Marianne blinked, confused. There was a schoolbag at Lavender's feet, the plume of a quill poking out of a pocket. "I-I think I see one there," she tried again.

"I said I haven't got any," Lavender grumbled, her voice hardening. Parvati, who was seated beside her friend, raised an eyebrow. Marianne wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn that Lavender whispered, "just ignore her". Parvati lightly nodded and focused on her textbook again. Neville stole a glance Marianne's way, but quickly turned back when she made eye contact with him.

Marianne shrunk into her seat, embarassed. She didn't think she said anything out of line, but judging by Lavender's reaction, she must had done something wrong. She made no attempt to ask someone else. The classroom became quiet except for Professor Binns' lecturing.

Reluctantly, Marianne determined that she would have to memorize the majority of the lesson, then catch up on the rest from the textbook later that night. It could have been as easy as asking Professor Binns for permission to leave and retrieve her things, but she couldn't quite work up the nerve to walk to the front of the classroom and interrupt him. Her limbs just stiffened at the very thought of her classmates stares.

A few minutes had passed and, already, some of the students had now propped up their heads in an effort to pay attention, or were taking the opportunity to rest their eyes. If magical history hadn't interested Marianne so much, she would have been doing the same. Binns' dry and reedy voice kept going at it's steady pace, neither rising in excitment at opportune moments, or lowering at ominous descriptions of Yardley Platt's methods.

Marianne clasped her hands into her lap in a show of interested learning. It was her dream that one day she could become the History of Magic professor at Hogwarts, but it was highly doubtful that Binns would give up his profession anytime soon. Death certainly hadn't stopped him, and most people could think of very little that would. Marianne figured she would have to settle for being a Magical Historian if finding a teaching position was impossible. Still, she clung to the hope that if she taught History of Magic at any point in her lifetime, she'd make an effort to be more animated in her approach. Hopefully she would have found some way of getting over her fear of being in front of an audience when the time came.

"In 1500, Platt amassed a small gathering of like-minded wizards..."

Marianne memorized that date as Binns droned on.

Her ears then picked up whispering from nearby. Distracted, she followed the direction of the sound, her eyes settling on Harry, Ron, and Hermione, sitting a table over. She couldn't hear anything specific that they were saying, but instantly found herself feeling unhappy at the sight of them. Her mood wasn't caused by them disrupting her, more the fact that they were usually inseperable. Their camaraderie was something she found very admirable. Before she could control herself, her heart felt empty from the memory of her last friend abandoning her without so much as an explaination.

Harry spoke feverishly in hushed tones. Ron and Hermione would each contribute briefly before Harry took the conversation again. He was either concerned or agitated, Marianne couldn't tell. Whatever it was, there was a sense of urgency in his hand gestures and eyes.

_Probably forgot to study for the upcoming exams, _she reasoned.

Her sight was still trained on them but her eyes grew distant as she remembered past friends whom she studied with. A smile tickled the corners of her lips as details surfaced. As she recalled, there was much laughter, not much studying.

Before she could collect herself, Harry's eyes darted and spotted the pale-blond staring at them. Immediately, Marianne snapped out of her reverie and turned away fast but not fast enough. Harry had seen her in what looked like eavesdropping. She couldn't decipher a single word they said, but still felt as if she'd been caught in high-profile espionage.

After a few tense seconds, at least on Marianne's end, Harry went back to his whispered conversation. She didn't dare face them again in case they were suspiciously aware of her, so she spent the rest of the lesson concentrating on Professor Binns, filling her head with prolific figures and dates to make herself appear busy. It was hard to really commit to looking occupied without parchment and a quill, though.

* * *

><p>The lunch bell echoed throughout the school. Dean Thomas snorted as he jerked awake. He used his sleeve to hurriedly wipe the drool off his desk, smearing some of the ink on his short notes in the process. There was a rumble as everyone gathered their supplies and rose from their seats.<p>

"You are all assigned a fifteen-inch essay on Yardley Platt," Binns said tonelessly, "due this Friday."

Hermione tucked her roll of notes into her bag and rushed to catch up with Harry and Ron, both whom had stood and left the room as soon as the bell sounded.

Marianne stood up as well, waiting for Lavender and Parvati to leave so she wouldn't have to pass them; just in case they'd say anything to her again. Once the gossiping pair were almost out, she trudged slowly to the door, not really needing to be anywhere in a hurry. Passing by Harry, Ron, and Hermione's vacated desks, she spotted a book on the floor. It's corners were frayed and there was a large blot on the spine; possibly belonged to the library. Considering how many books Hermione was usually surrounded by, Marianne guessed that it must have been hers.

The classroom was now empty and Hermione didn't seem to be coming back for it, so Marianne bent down and picked it up. It was only right that she should return it. She ran out into the corridor, looking from side to side, trying to find the book's owner. Near one of the suits of armour lining the walls, she spotted brown, bushy hair.

"Hermione," Marianne tried to call, but her voice caught in her throat from it hardly being in use. She cleared her throat. "Hermione!", she said a little louder, and dashed to catch up to her fellow Gryffindor, holding the book up high. Her throat tingled from the near-shout. It made her feel uneasy and very aware of herself.

Hermione stopped in her tracks and looked around to see who was calling her name. Harry and Ron paused, looking at her curiously. They all turned around as Marianne reached them. Marianne suddenly felt a chill, one that wasn't caused by the frigid castle, and she slowed down as she came closer. Their stares were turning her into stone, they must have been, because her feet sure felt heavier.

"Erm, you-you left your book ba-back in the classroom," Marianne blurted, jerking her thumb behind her. "Here."

She awkwardly thrust the book under a startled Hermione's nose. All three pairs of eyes on her all at once were making Marianne increasingly nervous. She would have felt much more comfortable if she were only speaking to one of them at a time.

"Oh," Hermione said as she accepted the book, "thank...oh, Harry, this is yours."

"Oh," was all Marianne could say, now incredibly flustered. Her eyes flicked to the title and she realized it was a book about Quidditch. Of all the books Hermione studied from, Marianne didn't think she ever saw anything Quidditch related. According to Hermione, they "had no academic quality".

Harry took the book from his friend's hands and looked at the cover. He nodded to Marianne and was about to turn around when Hermione held his shoulder and swung him back.

"Harry..." she said in a warning tone, and pointed with her eyes to the girl who returned the book.

"Uh," he mumbled, "thanks...erm...". He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think.

"Marianne," Hermione said.

"Marianne," Harry repeated, relieved, "yes, thank you, Marianne. I...I appreciate it. Really."

He nodded politely again, then steered Ron and a pleased Hermione along. Ron looked over his shoulder one more time before following his friends.

Marianne stood rooted to the spot, absorbing what had just happened while watching them go. Once she got a sense of where she was again, a flush of embarassment creeped up on her, making her squirm. Although, somewhere underneath it was a spark of exhileration. She spoke to someone...and they kindly spoke back. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to start all over again, after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Poor Marianne. She doesn't realize that there isn't really a formula for making friends, it usually just happens xD If you've read this far, I love you!  
>Even though this is the first chapter, I'm worried whether I'm making Marianne able to have a connection with the readers. Constructive criticism is definitely welcome. I encourage it, I'm always willing to learn! Honestly, I'm my worst critic when it comes to writing.<strong>

**This story has been floating in my head for a year or two already, but I never sat down to write it. Finally, out of the blue, I just pushed myself to do it. I started five months ago but never posted it anywhere because I was too worried. I kept re-reading it and making heaps of changes. This chapter alone has gone though at least 3 major overhauls, and COUNTLESS sentence and word fixes. If I'm not ready now, then I'll never be ready.**

**This will be a short story, just so you know, four or five chapters are planned (gotta start out small, testing the waters).**

**Have any questions? Please ask! I'll be happy to answer. If characters from the Harry Potter universe seem out of character, let me know and I'll correct it right away.**

**Yardley Platt, the famous goblin serial killer, is from the mind of J.K herself but I made up the part about him starting a group of fellow goblin haters in 1500.**


	2. Letters Home

Marianne barely slept that night, opting instead to spend most of it on searching for her schoolbag. She tried first in the girls dormitory, but Parvati and Lavender took much offense to her rustling and shuffling things around in the very late hours; none too kindly, they told her to take her search elsewhere. Marianne hastily dodged a flying _Standard Book of Spells (Grade 3)_and ducked through the door, deciding it was safer to continue in the common room. She surveyed the room whilst descending the stairs. Empty. The dying fire didn't leave much heat, or much light, so moonlight would have to be depended on for the heavily shadowed areas. The furniture seemed like a good place to start, considering they were the focus of the whole room.

* * *

><p>Marianne frustratingly stood up, dusting off her hands and knees after scanning the underbelly of a sofa. All she managed to remove was a fuzzy clump of dust. Walking up to the nearest wall, she took a chance on lifting the portraits; just in case there was a hidden nook behind them. While lifting one of the paintings, the movement managed to shake the portly, white-haired wizard with mutton chop sideburns within it. He awoke with a startled snort and his eyes darted madly.<p>

"Do you _mind_?" he cried indignantly, once he spotted the culprit.

"Oh! Pardon me!" squeaked Marianne in surprise, sheepishly mumbling apologies several more times as she gingerly placed the portrait back against the wall and then held up her hands as if the frame burned them.

The portly wizard grumbled, shifted in his large armchair, and closed his eyes again. His look of annoyance was still etched on his face. Marianne stood in her arrested stance a few seconds longer, making sure he wouldn't reprimand her further. Once his snores were steady, she tip-toed away to the opposite corner of the room.

* * *

><p>Morning dawned blustery and grey, and the schoolbag was nowhere to be found. Every available space within the common room had been searched thoroughly - twice. The sky was alight when Marianne reluctantly gave up. Noticing the overcast sky and the rippling trees of the Forbidden Forest outside the window, she frustratingly pinched the bridge of her nose. A whole night spent looking. Text books, her wand, two and a half quills, and a quarter-finished Potions essay had been left in the bag. Since it was Saturday morning, she still had a weekend's grace, but come Monday...<p>

Panic rose from the pit of her stomach._ What if it's been stolen?,_ she thought fretfully, wringing her hands, _or taken as a prank?_

Her imagination ran rampant, ranging from people selling her possessions for pocket money, to tossing them into the lake for the Giant Squid to enjoy. She forced herself to pause and calm down, but her thoughts kept going in circles. She began rubbing her forehead in an attempt to think clearly, then started pacing. It was also possible that it was simply left behind in a classroom, or somewhere in the castle.

_Yes, yes, that is probably what happened_, Marianne convinced herself hopefully,_ If I post a note on the Gryffindor's bulletin board, my schoolbag might turn up eventually_. And by eventually, she was hoping soon. However, her solution did nothing to raise her spirits and she frowned. As much as Marianne hoped that her carelessness was to blame, she painfully remembered that she was no stranger to being a target.

A thump from the boys dormitory stairs interrupted her. She started, looking towards the top landing. Quidditch practice? Marianne's mind went blank and she instinctively fled the common room before the boys could reach the bottom. Once out of the portrait, she sullenly sat on the floor near the wall and groaned.

_Ugh, what am I doing?_ _All I want to do is interact with people. A smile, a nod, an acknowledgement, anything, _she thought, frustrated. She tried to convince herself that she ran out of the common room because she was finished searching it anyway, that hiding places would be inaccessible because too many people would be in the way. But ridicule had built a reflex within her to avoid crowds, and she knew that no matter how many excuses she made, that was the truth. Fellow students probably didn't give a single lasting thought to her, but Marianne still somehow felt judged when noticed. How she was ever able to make friends before, she'd never know.

The portrait chose that moment to swing open, amid The Fat Lady's complaints of being disturbed. The Gryffindor boys didn't even see Marianne as they trailed out. They were too busy discussing Quidditch strategy and breakfast. The corridor felt cavernous once the Quidditch players were gone, their echoes still ringing in her ears.

There were no classes for the day, Marianne didn't feel at all hungry to go down to breakfast, and had no means of writing a note for the bulletin board. She forced herself to stand up, finding determination in the need of a quill, ink, and piece of parchment. Much more preferable than wallowing, at least. _The library could be a good place to start_...

* * *

><p>The students who would be awake at dawn to study on Saturday was, unsurprisingly, few. Upon entering, Marianne spotted an older male Hufflepuff and a small Slytherin girl, both at seperate tables. The Hufflepuff was poring over three open books, alternating between reading and writing notes. The library was so silent that Marianne could hear the scratching of his quill. Strolling in, she had almost reached the Hufflepuff to ask if he could lend some supplies, but stopped when she saw his concentration. He looked relaxed, occassionally brushing his black hair out of his eyes, though focused on his work. Marianne felt guilty for wanting to disturb him. Perhaps it was best to look elsewhere.<p>

Not making a sound, she turned around and passed the Slytherin girl who was reading a single book, completely engrossed in its pages. The girl jumped and emitted a squeaky gasp when she glanced upwards at who had walked in front her. Not loudly but audible enough to shatter the silence and disturb the Hufflepuff, making him turn in a flash to face both girls. Marianne was frozen to the spot, eyes wide as saucers, looking back and forth between them.

"You scared me," the Slytherin girl said, her hand rising to her chest.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to," Marianne whispered as steadily as she could, the room's heavy silence compressing her voice. The Hufflepuff raised an eyebrow. "Sorry for interrupting, I was just leaving." and she spun around so fast that her hair brushed the other side of her face. Their stares still prickled the back of her head, even when a considerable distance was put between herself and the library.

Marianne's frustration began to emerge again once she was within the safety of the empty corridors. Trying to walk off her embarassment, she wove aimlessly through the castle. Once, she came upon the Fat Friar who smiled, nodded his head politely and then floated away, but she didn't see anyone else.

It shouldn't have been so hard to find stationery in a _school_,even without having to run into anybody_._ Perhaps the staff at Hogwarts should have thought of implementing a Lost and Found. If her mother found out she lost - her _mother_! Marianne slapped her forehead. It had been ages since her parents received a letter fom their daughter. Now she had two jobs to take care of. Hopefully, her parents wouldn't be too busy to send a reply this time.

Her wandering was on auto-pilot. The letter was in the middle of being mentally composed when she passed an empty, dark classroom. Stopping dead in her tracks, she backed up and stuck her head in through the doorway. Weak sunlight from the overcast sky was bleeding through drawn curtains. The entire room was very dim, save for the block of light coming in from the open doorway. Looking over her shoulders to the hall and seeing no one, Marianne slipped inside, thinking the chances were good that there were some discarded supplies in there.

* * *

><p>The Great Hall was bustling with chatter as most of the students were now awake. Marianne cruised past them, carrying herself with a rarely experienced sense of satisfaction, the smell of breakfast not the least bit tempting. She proudly held in her hands a tarnished pot of ink, a rather ragged but still sharp quill, and two jagged sheets of parchment. Sitting down on the bottom step of the Entrance Hall staircase, she opened the ink pot. A shallow pool sat at the bottom but it would be more than enough. The quill dipped and ready to go, Marianne composed her notes, starting with...<p>

_**Lost  
><strong>__**One faded grey messenger bag. Frayed shoulder strap, hole on bottom right corner.  
>Contents include a 9 inch cherry wand, third year text books, and stationery.<br>If found, please return to Marianne Wilford.**_

A group of Ravenclaws descended the stairs as the note was completed. They stared at Marianne with cocked eyebrows and suspicious looks before continuing on their way to the Great Hall.

The second letter began...

_**Dear Mother and Father,**_

**Very sorry for not writing in a long time. I know you told me to write at least twice a month, but I haven't much new to tell. Ormond making it to Head Boy this year has really kept him busy. I find myself missing him more and more, like I lost a friend. I know I never tell him how much I appreciate being his sister (please don't tell him I said that! I will never hear the end of it).**

Despite it being the largest scrap of parchment Marianne found, that didn't mean much. The bottom of the sheet was inching closer, but there was still so much that she was desperate to say. How she was now more lonelier than ever, how much she wished that her parents could comfort her in person, how her History of Magic grade was stellar while her other subjects were suffering. But she would have to compromise; combine all of her feelings into a small amount of space, which was about as easy as shoving a quaffle through a keyhole. Thinking for a bit, she dipped the quill again and held it just above the paper, pausing for several seconds.

_**Everything is fine. I would love to hear from you both again soon. And Mother? If you could please knit me another jumper, I will write twice as much! Hope it is warm where you both are.**_

**Love always,**

**Marianne**

Keep a stiff upper lip, her parents would say in their driven way. But Marianne couldn't say she was like her parents.

Achilles Wilford worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which sometimes took him to the opposite side of the country, and occasionally being called to travel beyond the border to help in foreign incidents. Despite the hazardousness and general filth of the job, Mr. Wilford donned fine robes when he was off duty, looking sleek and refined. He had tremendous pride for his job, though his usual demeanor was so stoic that many found it difficult to tell. A lifetime of hard, physical work had made him a modest man in mind and spirit, but not in finery.

Tristeza Wilford followed her husband wherever his department assigned him, filling out the official Ministry paperwork that Achilles was required to hand back to his superiors. Often, she would even accompany him while he was on a mission (though at a safe distance, wand at the ready).

It was a crime to say that Mr. and Mrs. Wilford didn't love their children, but to put aside time to spend with them was another matter entirely.

Marianne couldn't even say that she and her brother were best friends, their interests and the company they kept being so different. Still, they got along. Usually. Ormond, always the more charming of the two, found it easy to attract people towards him. This had afforded him much popularity throughout his school years, pushing his sister further into the background. Ormond only seemed to talk to her when his friends weren't around. While Marianne could somewhat understand - he was older and had his own agenda, afterall - it still felt like a puncture to her heart when his friends came first.

Marianne pulled herself up from the step, smiling a little. Anticipation for a letter from her parents put a new spring in her step. In fact, she could already feel it starting in her feet. Hopefully, this time, she'd receive a reply. If Mr. and Mrs. Wilford were traveling at the moment, the owl would have a longer journey ahead, but she was willing to wait.

She walked swiftly, almost skipping, to the entrance of the castle, and gratefully slid through the double doors (Hagrid having opened them and strolled in at just the right moment). Standing outside, Marianne craned her neck to the overcast sky. The clouds were so thick and grey that it was hard to tell where the sun's exact position was; it's light was spread out so evenly. There was a hint of a chill carried by the breeze. Marianne rubbed her arm. Outside wasn't freezing, but the absence of sunlight, in addition to the wind, left the air feeling cool.

The Owlery stood tall in the distance, it's pointy roof looking like it could penetrate the cloud blanket overhead.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was different than how I first imagined it when I began brainstorming this story and writing down the summary. This was supposed to just start with her walking to the Owlery, letters already done and ready to send, but I just kept up the continuation from the previous chapter xD It was an impulse.**

**Marianne's parents went through so many name changes. Well, actually her dad did...  
>Here is the list, from his original name to current.<strong>  
><strong>1. Clifford<strong>  
><strong>2. Clinton<strong>  
><strong>3. Milton<strong>  
><strong>4. Maurice<strong>  
><strong>5. Virgil (this one stayed the longest out of all the names)<strong>  
><strong>6. Conrad<strong>  
><strong>7. Willoughby<strong>

**But none of them felt right. I found Achilles and it seemed to really work. Marianne's mom started out as Eleanor. She was called Eleanor all throughout Mr. Wilford's name crisis. Then I gave her a name overhaul, too, because Eleanor didn't feel right. It was pretty much a stand-in until I could find something better.**

**I know it looks like a bunch of nothing is happening right now, but every single scene is building up to the ending.**


	3. Stand Up

_Maybe for Christmas I should ask for my own owl, _Marianne thought as she crossed the uneven terrain towards the Owlery. Luckily, she was able to keep an even footing by watching her step. After a long trek, she finally caught up to the looming tower. It's stairs were empty, and no one was entering or leaving through the door. It was a relief that there were no other visitors at the moment. A relaxed ease encased her.

Leaping two steps at a time, Marianne was soon on the landing in front of the door. She tucked her arms in tightly, keeping her letter close to protect it against soiling from above. Once she passed the threshold, however, the owls erupted into a frenzy. Many screeched irritably, some flapping their wings so hard that feathers fluttered down to the white-splattered stone floor. Marianne crouched and covered the back of her head, out of reflex rather than for preventative measures; her new position would do practically nothing to protect her from falling remains or outstretched claws.

"Sorry, sorry!" she called over the racket, "I'll be out of here soon, sorry for barging in!". Marianne felt silly for apologizing to the owls but hoped that they would respond well if they heard a voice that meant no harm. Their indignation brought forth a need to defend herself.

The school owls were always easily spooked and not very reliable. Several of Marianne's letters had been lost in transit, and she would only find out weeks later when the post never arrived. It was if they forgot what their job was in the magical world. Trying to send mail was always a struggle.

She dared to look upward, risking an eyeful, and saw little bits of the grey sky peeking through glassless windows. A set of stairs hugged the wall of the circular building and spiraled up to the second floor. A Great Horned owl, resting on it's perch within a groove in the wall, stared imperiously down at the intruder.

The noise wouldn't cease and it began to grind in Marianne's ears. Noticing something at the bottom of her vision, she looked down at her feet and spotted a tiny burrowing owl hopping across the floor. Smiling, she crouched down and stuck out her hand, clicking her tongue, hoping to entice it.

"Hey there, little guy," she cooed with an inviting grin, brandishing the letter in her hand, "mind helping me out?" It stared back at her with blank eyes, then screeched sharply, extended it's wings and flew up to the beams in the ceiling. "Hmm...," Marianne huffed, swatting a feather away from her face, "must've been a girl."

Not wishing to have come all the way for nothing, she determinedly made her way to the stairs while pressing her back and spreading her arms against the wall. While the steps were wide enough to safely climb, the tower's serious lack of railing made her nervous and her head began to feel light.

"Keep to the wall, keep to the wall...," she coached herself breathily.

Delicate and precise footing took her up to the second floor, which was just as littered as the ground level. Wanting to be far away from the hole in the floor that she just emerged from, Marianne pushed away from the wall and daintily walked to the center of the floor. She nervously looked over her shoulder one more time so as not to have a nasty fall take her by surprise.

"Anybody?" she pleaded, waving her letter in the air. A loud screech came from behind her, and for the second time, Marianne instinctively ducked and covered her head, not even feeling the letter crushed in her hand and pressed against her head. It was suddenly snatched right out of her fingers. Once Marianne felt it escape her grip, she frantically looked upward to see a barn owl circle the room and then fly out the window, rolled up parchment held in it's talons.

A smile appeared on Marianne's face. It felt strange and unnatural, like she was somehow out of practice, but it was genuine. Had it really been that long since she had a reason to smile?

Her relief quickly turned to uncertainty as she remembered how the owl got it's delivery, and her hand flew to the back of her head, making sure the bird didn't take some scalp with it. Her head felt fine and she relaxed, though wondered if her parents would also recieve a few blond strands with their mail.

* * *

><p>The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with after-dinner chatter. Marianne stood silently by the bulletin board, just in case anyone came forward with her schoolbag. She had posted her Lost and Found note earlier that morning, upon her return to the common room. Throughout the day, she checked in regularly, and was dismayed every single time to see that it went unanswered.<p>

She hovered around the area of the board, waiting. There were just too many students to really move anywhere else. She couldn't even zero in on what anyone was saying, even if she wanted to. She wouldn't even have been able to find her own brother if she was truly looking, but Ormond rarely hung around the common room anyway. Marianne could easily picture him strolling somewhere in the castle or the grounds, surrounded by friends and admirers, completing his story with a punchline that sent them all into hysterics.

Bitterness started to froth in the pit of her stomach and she bit her lip to quelch it. She hated whenever this ugly feeling came around, because she knew that Ormond deserved everything good that came to him. He was bright, responsible, and fair; Head-Boy material in every way.

He wasn't unkind to his sister, but it was his unavailability and indifference that hurt the most. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of her current problem, and if he would be sympathetic if he knew.

Then again, why would he? Besides familial obligation, Marianne knew they didn't spend much time together at all. Whenever they did meet, there was always the necessary sibling mockery and then he'd ruffle her hair with a laugh and catch up to his friends, swinging back into a conversation that was more important than his little sister.

With a heavy heart, Marianne realised that she hadn't always been the best sibling to him, either. When she was occupied, she barely acknowledged him, too.

"Hey, you!" called a stern voice that immediately made Marianne's thoughts vanish with a pop. She jumped and darted her head around to find who it belonged to. A prefect stared her right in the eyes. He meant her?

"Me?" she mouthed uncertainly, pointing to herself.

The badge pinned on his chest glinted brightly in the setting light coming through the window. Marianne eyes widened and she froze to the spot, the prefect's air of authority making her tremble on the inside. She didn't know what she did wrong, she never got in trouble.

"Yes, you," he said, walking up to the bulletin board. Marianne was already against the wall but still backed up into it, shrinking under his imposing height. "You're not supposed to be in here."

In addition to her nervousness, Marianne was now confused. "B-but...I'm a Gryf-"

"Didn't I just tell you the other day? Out," he ordered, a little more loudly than necessary, pointing to the portrait.

"But I - huh?"

He had done no such thing. Marianne was sure of it. She had no recollection of ever being asked to leave her own common room, and was about to tell him that he must have mistaken her for another student (her eyes even flickered down to her robes to make sure she didn't accidently grab a Ravenclaw uniform), but her voice died in her throat.

Students in the surrounding area began to stare. Marianne looked at the prefect to avoid the curious onlookers, but could still feel their burning stares that pinned her to the wall - though being forced to face the prefect wasn't any better. He looked at her expectantly, pushing Marianne's protest of innocence further and further down her throat, making her feel as though it were too bold to say. His eyes moved to the bulletin board and spotted her Lost and Found note. Without a word, he plucked it off and tore it in half.

Wanting to keep from making anymore of a scene, Marianne swallowed her defense and obediently did as he commanded. She kept her gaze firmly planted on the floor, and blindly shuffled through the portrait entrance, mortified. Only one thing was on her mind - be as far away as possible. Physically and mentally.

Emerging from the Gryffindor tower entrance into the seventh floor, she brushed through Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The words, "...sneak out tonight" were heard clearly, but Marianne payed them no mind. Not even wanting to be near the tower, she walked with the intention of putting considerable distance between them. The farther away she got, the farther away the unfairness would be - at least that's what she told herself. But the massive castle wasn't big enough, and the spectacle played out in her mind's eye in a constant loop. The more she tried to forget it, the more clear the picture became.

Overwhelmed, she slowed down and stopped in front of a tapestry depicting a wizard on a platform who was making grand gestures with his hands, while addressing a crowd of angry goblins. At least, they looked angry since they were all carrying burning torches.

Marianne sat down against it, grateful that this particular corridor was empty, and propped her head up on her hands. It happened again. Someone had walked all over her, and she allowed it. But it wasn't as though she knowingly did. It was hard to recognize it as it was happening. Only in hindsight was she able to see when she failed to defend herself.

Ormond's chastising voice pushed it's way into her head. It was easier to imagine her brother lecturing her, because Marianne rarely would for herself. She was more obedient to him, fabricated or not, than to her own insight.

_I can't always be there to bail you out, Marianne..._

_Don't you think I have better things to do than look after you?_

_Get a grip on yourself._

_You are a Gryffindor. Act like one._

_It's not that easy, _she would answer defensively to the imagined Ormond,_ I am not like you._

Her jaw stiffened. It wasn't the first time that phrase resonated in her head. Everytime, it was said with regret. _I am not like you, I am not like you, I am not like you...  
><em>  
>Marianne knew that she could never say it to his face, for he wouldn't accept it as an excuse. Within the safety of her mind, she could see herself be more outgoing, speaking with and gaining friends with complete ease. However, when it came time to put dream to action, her nerve would wither and die every single time. It wasn't as simple as just willing yourself to change.<p>

A gruff meow broke through her thoughts. Marianne's head snapped up. Yellow, lamp-like eyes were peeking at her from around the corner. Mrs. Norris then stalked forward, eyes focused intently on the student sitting on the floor. Marianne braced herself, uncurling her legs and sticking them straight out, hoping the cat would take it as a sign to stay away.

If it came to it, Marianne wasn't going to actually kick her, but Mrs. Norris didn't have to know that. Although, if his cat was here, then Filch certainly wasn't far off. If he saw any physical threat against his pet, detention would be painful. And hazardous.

But Marianne didn't have to do anything. Seemingly done with the inspection, Mrs. Norris turned her scrawny body around, sticking her tail in the air and going back the way she came. It wasn't after curfew, but a run-in with Filch was always unpleasant. In case Mrs. Norris was going to fetch him, Marianne sprang up onto her feet, knowing it was inevitable to return to the Gryffindor common room. A bead of dread steadily grew in her stomach for having to, but there was nowhere else to go.

Forced to move, she reluctantly trudged forward, practically dragging her feet. There was only a temporary comfort in taking the long way back to the tower.

In the midst of strongly praying that the Gryffindor prefect was the early to bed type, and even wondering if the whole debacle was a trick pulled by Parvati and Lavender, voices stopped Marianne dead in her tracks. They echoed off the walls, accompanied by footsteps. Panicking, Marianne scurried behind a statue of a plump-cheeked Healer, having barely tucked her foot in before Snape and Filch walked into view.

"-have it on good word that the Ministry will not remove the Dementors," Filch said. Mrs. Norris skulked at his feet, loyally matching his pace.

"The students are safe within the grounds," Snape firmly assured, but then his face turned sour. "However, there are still those who think themselves above their limits. It is imperative that you patrol these halls tonight".

Their hasty stride brought the two to the far end of the corridor, almost reaching beyond Marianne's hearing range, but she continued to stay still. It was rumoured that both Snape and Filch could actually hear movement. At a moment like this, she completely believed it. Both men disappeared around the corner, their voices gradually fading.

"Any student fool enough to sneak out will-" Filch began to say, but now all Marianne could hear were unintelligible sounds. She leaned out from behind the statue as far as she dared, straining her ears to make sure Filch and Snape were gone. There was an echoing click of a door and then absolute quiet. She stayed in place for a long minute, in case either one came back, but not a sound reached her.

Cautiously, Marianne stepped out from behind the statue, looking both ways. The coast looked clear. Without a single glance back, she bolted to the staircase to Gryffindor tower.

Snape and Filch were long gone, but she could still feel their presence, and that made her feel like she was being watched. Soon enough, The Fat Lady came into view and the prickling feeling at the back of her neck lessened.

She slowed down before reaching the portrait, tentatively staring at the sleeping figure within it.

_Probably not a good idea to wake her_, Marianne reasoned, _I can wait outside for a little while_.

The portrait's beauty sleep was not what concerned her. Nonetheless, Marianne made herself comfortable in a corner. After several quiet minutes, a relaxed feeling overtook her, and she entertained herself by watching the sky turn orange outside the window. A few surviving clouds that remained from the overcast morning lazily drifted by.

For a while, Marianne was even able to let her mind go blank and peacefully admire the view, forgetting why she was cold and sitting on the floor in the first place.

* * *

><p><em>"And then what happened, Professor Wilford?"<em>

_Marianne dramatically paused, staring her students in the eye, using the silence to her advantage. Her eyes scanned the entire room. Every single one of the children sat in rapt attention, posture rigid in anticipation, imploring her to go on._

_"And then," Marianne breathed, sure that every word dripped with suspense, "Sir Fitzroy, having fallen down the valley and into their nest, found himself staring down _five_ Ukrainian Ironbellies!"_

_The bell suddenly rang, making half of the students jump and wildly look around, not having realised the time. Groans swept the entire room as the children grudgingly gathered their things._

_"But did he live?!" asked one wide-eyed student._

_Marianne winked. "He couldn't have personally written his autobiography if he hadn't." She then addressed the whole class. "Over the weekend, your assignment is to read the rest of the chapter and write a twenty inch essay on Sir Fitzroy the Ironhearted."_

* * *

><p>The calm was broken when the portrait swung open. Marianne's far-off, daydream smile vanished as she tensed and tucked her legs in, trying to melt into the wall. Strangely enough, there was nobody exiting the opening, and the portrait swung back into place.<p>

Marianne stared curiously. Suddenly feeling rather defenseless in a sitting position, she slowly stood, not making any sudden moves. The air was still again.

"Ouch, Ron!"

Briefly.

Marianne jumped and stumbled back into the wall, stifling a yelp. The abrupt sound was what scared her more than it coming from nowhere (in a castle with many ghosts, one usually expected the unexpected voice).

"Sorry," mumbled a second, sheepish tone.

Marianne's eyes widened as a disembodied foot appeared out of nowhere, shaking vigorously, and then slid out of existence again. Her cowering transitioned to confusion, and she raised an eyebrow. Was she staring at an invisible wall? Was this some quirk from the castle, like the trick steps?

She cautiously edged forward to test the wall theory. Not wanting to find it with her face, she held out a hand to feel for anything solid. Was there another side to it?

"Careful!" hissed a harsh third voice.

First, out of thin air, Hermione appeared in the middle of the room. Then Harry right in front of her. And...only half of Ron's backside? Marianne watched as his visible hands grabbed where his head should have been, then he clenched his fingers and pulled. The rest of Ron came into view and a silvery fabric materialized in his hands, most of it pooling on the floor under his foot.

"Guess we're out of practice," he said meekly, stepping off the cloak.

Harry turned to check the portrait in the hope that they didn't wake The Fat Lady. Instead, he came face-to-face with their alarmed witness, her hand outstretched in the air, inches away from him. Ron and Hermione stopped bickering when they spotted her, too, both looking like they'd been caught by McGonagall.

Once again, Marianne had their eyes locked on her, and she didn't like it any better than the first time. It was the same feeling as yesterday: being the odd one out; the intruder. By being outnumbered, it was as if she had been the one caught in wrongdoing.

All that could be heard in that suspended moment was The Fat Lady's snores. Marianne stiffly lowered her hand, the first movement in what felt like minutes.

"You...have an invisibility cloak," she said in quiet astonishment. Even then, it felt too daring to talk. Her instinct screamed at her to pretend she saw nothing and walk away.

Ron and Hermione exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Er, yes, I do," Harry finally said. He saw no point in trying to explain when the evidence was lying on the floor. Ron scooped the cloak into his hands.

"Look," Harry pressed on, his voice clipped, "this really isn't a good time. It's really important that we go. Now."

"But it's after hours," Marianne said in spite of her inner-objections, concern marring her forehead.

Hermione's grip on her wand tightened, a gesture that wasn't missed by anybody. Whatever small flicker of forwardness Marianne had within her was immediately snuffed out. Her throat went thick, and her voice was retreating so far down into her chest that it threatened to never emerge again.

"Do it," Ron mouthed silently from beside Hermione.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A Ukrainian Ironbelly is a dragon, just in case anybody doesn't know what that was. The dragon is from The J.K. Rowls, but I made up Sir Fitzroy and his rather unfortunate predicament ;)**

**Big biiiiig thanks to Madokaism, Kelly, and The Agent of Fire for their fantastic reviews, and to those who took a look at this story. It meant a lot to me, I honestly took it to heart, and I really hope that I have not disappointed anybody with this chapter.**


	4. Impulse

**A/N: ****I only had 30% of this done so far, and then today I just wrote the rest in 7 hours with no breaks, and then spent another hour on reading it again and editing. I was in the zone.**

* * *

><p>Marianne bit her lip and took a cautious half-step away from the three, palms raised in surrender. It was plain what Hermione was intending to do, and Marianne knew that she stood absolutely no chance - not against the brightest student Hogwarts had seen in nearly a century. Investigating the noise now felt like an incredibly stupid idea. Her natural flight impulse had been asleep; her curiosity had completely overridden it. This rare moment of nerve wasn't at all satisfying.<p>

Marianne tightly closed her eyes, bracing herself for the spell, but Hermione's wand stayed at her side. "I can't," she whispered back to Ron.

Marianne guardedly cracked one eye open. She couldn't tell whether Hermione's reason was on moral grounds or not, but then again, any spell that was cast would wear off eventually and wouldn't stop Marianne from telling a teacher. The four of them had now reached a standstill, waiting on eachother to do something and react appropriately. The air crackled with tension, but no one made a move.

Grabbing everyone's attention, Harry stepped forward and took the cloak from Ron. Without a word, he draped it over his friends, taking one last look at Marianne and staring at her above his glasses intensely, a question evident in his expression.

"I-I won't tell, I promise," Marianne answered him, the words spilling out like she'd been bullied into saying them - but she knew she shouldn't have been letting them go at all. This was against the rules! They were going to get themselves in trouble if they were caught. Why couldn't it wait until tomorrow? And what about the Dementors? Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to have remembered them. Everyone did.

Harry was the last to vanish under the cloak. Marianne took one step towards them, a warning ready to launch from her throat, but Harry stopped her by holding her firmly in his sight.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important," and with that, he ducked and was instantly out of sight. His voice was not begging or pleading, but there was an underlying urgency in his words. Marianne didn't know what to make of it.

She lowered her hands, defeated, watching what she imagined to be their retreating backs. Their soft footsteps faded, and Marianne was left alone again. It was a different solitude than what she had known before. This was a new breed, a hollow and helpless kind. There was no time to find a teacher to stop them, they would be long gone by then.

And then realization hit her like a Bludger out of nowhere. Filch was patrolling the halls tonight!

Harry, Ron, and Hermione would get in big trouble if a teacher caught them, and it wouldn't be any better if they accidently ran into Filch. All the scenarios Marianne could think of led to the same end: every dependable adult in the castle had authority, and Marianne didn't want to get the trio punished on account of her. Not to mention that if the three were caught and points were taken away from Gryffindor, it meant being blacklisted. No way would it be kept a secret that it was Marianne who turned the rule-breakers in. Not to mention the ridicule that was sure to be directed at all four involved.

Then again, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had concealment on their side. Did that mean that the cloak stopped them from being solid or muffled noise as well?

But they could be seriously hurt going anywhere by themselves at night. Or if the Dementors...Marianne didn't even want to finish that thought. It shook her to the core.

She had some means of support before, but now, in this moment, there was none. The professors, her parents, her brother, none of them could help, and she felt stranded. Without the reassuring thought of somebody to rely on, she was lost and couldn't do anything but stand rooted to the spot. Being trapped between two decisions was a disorienting limbo; so much so that she couldn't even feel the frigidness of the room as the sun sank lower.

An ugly pressure was building in her chest, like her body wanted to split right down the middle; one half wanting to follow and warn the trio, one half pulling to return to the safety of the dormitory and leave them to their own doom.

The room gave silence as it's answer. Marianne, its lone occupant, grimaced, closing her eyes tightly.

_Oh, Ormond's going to kill me!_

Instantly opening her eyes, she sprinted away from the common room entrance, concentrating on adrenaline to do all the work before her brain could even comprehend what was happening. Her mind began protesting fiercely.

_Turn back! Turn back!_ _You're going to get caught!_

Marianne followed the direction she heard Harry, Ron, and Hermione heading, her legs almost working of their own accord. There was no determination in her mind, no heroics, just fear. Fear of the concequences. But the Fat Lady's portrait still got smaller and smaller.

_But I won't forgive myself if I had the chance and never warned them._

_It's their fault, anyway. Why drag yourself down, too!_

A staircase appeared around the corner. Marianne descended it so fast that she was almost gliding.

_I'll just let them know, and then go straight back to the dormitory._

_Would they do the same for you?_

Marianne slowed down as she jumped the last two steps and reached the entrance to the seventh floor, mind now suddenly becoming a lot more clear. The question echoed in her head, and for a moment she hesitated on reaching the door. Would they?

Walking through the door's archway and into the empty seventh floor corridor, she pondered the question and was now beginning to have serious second thoughts. By no means was she their friend, she wouldn't be fool enough to think so. No, they probably wouldn't do the same.

Too distracted by her dilemma to notice the door, it closed behind her a little too hard. The click that came from it brought Marianne back to reality with dread. Locked! And her wand was still missing; a simple _Alohomora _was impossible. Even worse, by stopping and letting her mind clear, she was able to realise one very crucial detail...how do you find that which is invisible?

After-hours in the school felt so much different than during lessons and meal times, even when the corridors were empty. The stone walls, the tapestries, the suits of armour, everything was exactly the same, but now the familiarity felt sinister, for Marianne knew no student was supposed to be there. Everything within sight was unwelcoming. It was so easy to picture a teacher or Filch hiding behind any one of the corners up ahead. She felt as if just taking one step would trigger some sort of alarm.

Time was wasting, but Marianne just couldn't find the will to move. There was no going back now, though.

_Be like Ormond, he wouldn't hesitate. Come on, steely resolve, _she encouraged herself.

Steely. More like tin foil. But it would have to be enough. Besides, Ormond wouldn't have been dumb enough to get himself into this situation in the first place. He would have put his foot down the moment that Hermione appeared out of nowhere.

Marianne took a shaky step forward and waited. No alarms, no teachers. Good, very good. She took another step. The breeze whistled through a window, but nothing else stirred. More relaxed, though still on her guard, she marched onward uncertainly. Getting further down the corridor made her feel like she was pushing her boundaries with each step, practically spitting in the face of authority. It didn't make her feel daring or exhilerated, just very distressed, but she kept walking despite the half of her that was now begging her to wait until someone came by and opened the door.

_You´ve come too far now, _she thought, trying to fight the urge, _I have to go get them._

Even in her head, the words weren't confident at all. It was Imagined Ormond's cue for his stern disapproval to break through the fog.

_You're just saying that because you're locked out. Go wait by the door, Marianne, you have no idea what you're doing._

That was absolutely true. Just how did she expect to actually find Harry, Ron, and Hermione? The trio didn't need her help. Yet there was a pull deep down in Marianne's gut, and it seemed to have now taken command of her body despite what all logic and reason was saying. She was completely in control of herself, she could stop that pull at anytime and turn back, but for some reason, she didn't seem to want to. As if to mock, the actions she wanted to carry out were disobeying her logical side's commands.

The deserted corridor had a spooky appearance to it that set Marianne on edge. She held out her hands as if she were the undead, trying to feel for a solid patch of air, but feeling ridiculous in doing do. Having to plan on the spot wasn't ideal, and the gesture looked completely silly, but it was the only method she could think of.

Should she risk calling their names? No, not now, not when it wasn´t clear who could be sharing the halls with her. Besides, it was doubtful that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would even answer.

A quick movement flickered in the corner of her eye. Shocked into fright, Marianne whipped sideways and found herself face to face with a startled someone else. After a terrifying split second, she recognized the person as herself. Her reflection stared back with round, grey eyes, and eyebrows practically shot up to the hairline.

A mirror. A decorative mirror.

Relief settled in her reflected image and her shoulders lowered. After the past two days, Marianne's nerves were completely shot. She held a hand to her forehead in an effort to soothe them.

_No more adventures after this_, she promised, _I can't take it. _She'd be sending herself to the hospital wing on a daily basis if she attempted half the things that her fellow Gryffindors did - if their stories were to be believed.

Marianne's face fell in a moment of clarity. The Sorting Hat got it wrong; perhaps she wasn't a Gryffindor at all and it was just a misunderstanding. The rumours alone of what Harry did when faced against You-Know-Who was enough to make Marianne's backbone liquify and turn her into a blubbering puddle. She had all the admiration in the world for Harry's brave defiance of the Dark Lord, and of Ron and Hermione who stuck steadfastly by their friend.

Honour and duty swelled in Marianne's chest, straightening her spine. It was uncomfortable, as she always tried to bend inward in an effort to look smaller - Mrs. Wilford lamented her daughter's poor posture - but it was a new, glorious kind of hurt. She owed the trio. She owed each one of them her best effort, for they always did theirs.

Careful not to be have her reinforced mission blind her, Marianne still tried to maintain a level of stealth, but it had a driving purpose behind it now. If anything, it made her even more cautious. She couldn't afford to risk messing up this one chance.

The corridor was now turning sharply to the left. Marianne stuck close to the wall, crouched near the floor, and looked around the corner. Nobody. Standing again, she continued walking crookedly, weaving along the width of the corridors to try and bump into an invisible something, but, like it always did, the air behaved by it's natural definition. The trio wasn't anywhere here. Anxiety was beginning to tie a knot in her stomach.

Without warning, a ghost of an old man with a pointed nose and a small, square jaw floated in through a wall across Marianne's path, making her immediately halt having no time to react. The ghost saw her, there was no mistaking their eyes meeting. Her body seized, afraid.

It was no secret that the ghosts of the castle were sometimes used as informants to teachers. Every possible excuse flooded Marianne's brain, but a believable one was difficult to conjure when she was put on the spot. Each alibi kept jumbling together with the next until they became an incoherent string of nonsense.

_Oh, is it curfew? I had no idea - I must have been sleepwalking - I got locked out - Professor McGonagall summoned me - Someone played a prank on me - I'm on my way to serve detention - I thought it best to get to Astronomy class three hours early - I lost track of time - It was too hot in the dorm, does it feel warm here to you? Oh no, of course it wouldn't, you're dead. Sorry! I meant since you're a ghost and all, and-_

The specter grinned sweetly, pushing his sagging cheeks away to show only three teeth. His wrinkled hands were laced together, resting in front of his stomach. It took Marianne a couple panicking seconds to notice that the ghost was subtly pointing with one extended finger towards a particular suit of armour that stood a small distance away from them, at the corner just before the corridor turned again. If the old man's figure wasn't so transparent, nobody from behind him would've been able to see the small gesture.

"Over there," he mouthed, not a sound spilling from his lips.

Marianne, inconspicuously as she could, leaned to her left to view the axe-wielding armour but there was nothing to see there. Of course there wouldn't be, would there?

"Thank you," she whispered genuinely. Of all the luck!

The old man politely nodded, unclasped his hands and then linked them behind his back as if he were out for a pleasant stroll. She turned to watch him go the direction she had just come from. The old man didn't look back.

Marianne tip-toed to the suit of armour, raising her hands upfront again. Out in the open, she was likely to have already been seen by the invisible trio; it would be pointless to slink against the walls and sneak up on them. Besides, if the ghost had been correct at their location, then Marianne would be able to hear them if they walked away. The sound of their footseps had been very clear back at the portrait of The Fat Lady.

Marianne didn't even reach the suit of armour before Hermione appeared in an instant, whipping the cloak off her bushy hair like a hood. Her eyes were large and frantic, and she immediately lifted a finger to her lips. Marianne froze to the spot. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do as Hermione was now shaking her head sharply and fanning her hand towards the wall behind her. A circle of light was growing on the wall opposite the suit of armour.

Marianne suddenly understood that Hermione was directing her to get against the wall. Most ungracefully, Marianne got down on the floor and scrambled towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione's half-visible feet. The orb of light was growing bigger, bobbing against the walls so luminously that the outlines of each stone could be seen. Marianne wasn't sure she had a heartbeat anymore, she could've sworn it stopped.

She closed her eyes tight, wishing now more than ever in her life that she could turn back time, or even make a juvenile attempt at Disapparition. Splinching was easy for Madam Pomfrey to fix, right? It was preferrable to getting expelled for being caught here, right? She would just tell Madam Pomfrey that she...fell out of the Gryffindor tower window or something. A clear picture of the Gryffindor common room formed in her mind's eye; anything to get away from this moment.

The orb of light stopped expanding. From the other side of the corner was a harsh wheezing, and then the light began to shrink. Dimmer and dimmer it got until it almost completely faded. For the next many seconds, none of the four even flinched; they may as well have been decoration in the castle.

Nothing could make Marianne move her stiff limbs for fear of making a single sound. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited before they turned on Marianne who was rather occupied by being in a cross between relieved and embarassed; the latter caused by her premature plan of Apparition. In her state of completely losing her head, she realised stupidly that first of all: she didn't even know the first thing about Apparition and Disapparition, and second, no one could do either within Hogwarts grounds.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione's feet all pointed towards her. Timidly, she slowly glanced up and met their not-so-welcoming eyes.

"Marianne, what are you doing here?" whispered Hermione. Harry risked one eye around the corner, but evidently saw no one when he didn't hush her.

Marianne stood up to speak to them more closely. "I...I...umm..."

_Oh no, no, don't get tongue-tied now, Marianne, _came her scared inner voice.

The trio stared, waiting for a reason as to why she almost got them caught by Filch. Marianne had rehearsed her explaination from the second she followed them from the Gryffindor entrance, the words were right there in her head, but they were now scrambled and refusing to come out.

Her throat felt so thick, like trying to push through glue. "I-I was - Filch - I heard him and Snape - I w-was going to warn you-,"

"A lot of good that did now, don't you think?" whispered Ron bluntly.

Marianne's stomach curled in shame. She certainly hadn't expected herself to swing in, save the day, and be heaped with praise along with Special Awards for Services to the School, but she did think that maybe the trio would somewhat appreciate that she tried to look out for them. Even just the thought of doing a good deed for someone else would've been an exceptional reward. But she got there too late. This was not the way this was supposed to go.

Every inch of Marianne's body tingled with resignation, just begging for the whole incident to be over and disappear. Perhaps the trio really was as high on the pedestal and unreachable as she previously thought. There was no room for another in their friendship, especially not for her.

_See what happened? _Imagined Ormond chastised, _Why didn't you listen to what your own instinct was telling you?_

_But I wasn't looking to gain friendship, I was just trying to do the right thing_, her own inner voice countered.

"We don't have time for this," Harry cut in when Marianne didn't say a word back. She couldn't even look the three of them in the eye anymore, she felt so awful. Keeping her face down and hidden by her hands was as close as she could get to trying to be as far away as possible.

"Come on now, Harry, it wasn't her fault," Hermione spoke up, trying to keep her voice minimal.

"Shhh," Harry hissed quietly. He hadn't been talking about Marianne at all.

Unnoticed by all four of them, the dim walls had gotten brighter, and before long, the circle of light appeared and was growing once more. Harry, Ron, and Hermione pressed themselves tightly against the wall again. Marianne was forced to snap out of her self-pity; it would have to be dealt with later.

"Filch has a barricade on the staircase, and he's blocking it" whispered Harry. Filch's lantern wasn't close enough just yet. "We'll try and sneak around him. Marianne, just...just go. Go back the way you came".

A command was exactly what Marianne needed because her body was too numb to take direction from herself. She turned to go upon hearing the whoosh of the cloak. Then a thought occured to her. She swivelled back, knowing she shouldn't be talking out of turn, but concern still bubbled up.

"Those corridors are narrow, though," she said softly, "If Filch doesn't bump into you, then Mrs. Norris could sniff you out."

"That's a risk we'll have to take," Harry answered even more quietly as the light steadily grew. He turned to her then, his green eyes so intense that Marianne felt like she was going to melt under them. "I ask you one more time, do not tell anyone. I know you don't understand why, but it is a matter of life or death. You would understand, wouldn't you?"

Just like back at the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry didn't wait for an answer and turned away. He was concentrating, getting ready to time themselves just right to slip by Filch.

Marianne didn't know what Harry, Ron, and Hermione were so bent on, but Harry's pleading struck a chord. He had all the reason to lie to her in order to get what he wanted, but that urgency she heard before was there again, only more intense this time. She had no choice but to trust his judgement, thin and breakable as it was.

Before Harry, Ron, and Hermione could even register what happened, Marianne grabbed the hem of the cloak and threw it over the three, concealing them all. Hermione hastily poked her head out.

"What are you doing?" she whispered in alarm.

"Get ready," warned Marianne, ignoring her. In a flash, she reached the opposite wall, in the darker area of the corridor.

Ron emerged from the cloak as well, jaw hanging open. "Are you crazy?" he said as voluminously as he dared, but Marianne didn't acknowledge him. She placed her hands on one of the suits of armour forming a line against the wall. With a heaving grunt, she pushed, making it teeter squeakily and then topple to the ground in a tremendous crash.

"Oh!" Marianne unintentionally shrieked, gritting her teeth at the sound of the plates breaking loose on impact and clattering noisily over the floor. After hearing little over silence for the past hour, the sound seemed loud enough to wake the entire school plus Hogsmeade.

"Who's there?!" growled Filch. The light was now bobbing madly and appeared brighter in a hurry.

The shriek had worked to Marianne's advantage. Filch may have possibly thought that an actual person was really there as opposed to one of the ghosts just messing around.

Marianne signalled Ron and Hermione to get back under the cloak by waving her hand down. With no other choice than to leave her, the two did so. In suddenly looking like she was alone, Marianne realised that she hadn't thought this far ahead. Terror gripped her as she took a step back. Filch's hurried footsteps were well within hearing range now. Marianne backed away into the dusk.

_Hurry! Hide!_

Her thoughts spurred her into action, and she spun on her heel and ran. Her mind blanked, thinking of nothing but pumping her legs. She bolted away from the dismantled mess, making for the door to the Gryffindor tower. Was it still locked? She didn't know and had second thoughts about the time she would waste in order to open it.

Almost completely missing the turn and careening into the wall ahead, Marianne was thrown off balance but managed to right herself. The Gryffindor tower door was now in sight, all the way at the end of the corridor. There were no footsteps behind her, no lantern light anywhere.  
><em><br>I made it, whew, I made it. That was way too close..._

At the halfway point was the tapestry of the wizard addressing the torch-carrying goblins, but before Marianne could reach it, she stopped dead. At the bottom of the tapestry where it couldn't quite touch the ground was a thin, moving slit of light. Dread gripped her like an icy hand. Trapped! Backing away with no where to turn, she spotted a wide open door to an unused classroom.

Marianne didn't even think, she automatically ran through the doorway, barely swooping in before the tapestry rustled. Once inside, she frantically darted her head to find a hiding place. Many desks were haphazardly piled in a corner, the only objects within the room. Their legs were sticking out everywhere in a jagged display. Now was certainly not the time to be picky, especially when Filch's lantern light was brightening the large slit of the door.

Marianne practically dove under two desks that formed a tent shape opening at the bottom of the pile. She army crawled inside, taking great care not to jar any one of the desks out of place; she did not want to get caught by needing someone to dig her out of a wooden avalanche. There was a large enough clearing in the center where she could turn around and watch the opening.

The door to the classroom squeaked on it's hinges, and the triangular opening Marianne had crawled through was now illuminated. She lay on her stomach, curling her legs and trying to shimmy as far backward as she could, hoping against hope that it was far enough in that Filch wouldn't be able to see her through any angle. Yet, if he decided to look into the hole, she was done for.

Filch's wheezing cut through the air and he stepped rhythmically into the room as though trying to intimidate whoever was in the classroom. Marianne seized up when she saw his feet walk past the triangle, and immediately pressed her hand to her mouth. It had been too much to hope that she would be so lucky again. What she had done was just corner herself into a convenient little space. There was no other spot in her hiding place to crawl into. The opening was just big enough for a student to fit into, there was no doubt Filch was going to look in there.

The caretaker continued his thorough lap around the room.

"Show yourself," he growled, startling Marianne and nearly making her smack her head on the protruding desk leg above.

The wait was torture, seemingly worse than finally being found. The awful anticipation was turning Marianne's insides to lead, just waiting for her punishing discovery. Marianne could picture Filch bending his knees and then his face appearing in the triangle.

"Reow."

"What is it, my sweet?" Filch murmured.

Mrs. Norris skulked in through the doorway, tail in the air, imploringly looking at her master. Then she turned and walked back out.

"Ahh, found something, have we?" Filch said in delight, practically tasting his words. He followed the cat out of the classroom, his lantern's light fading and fading until it was completely gone.

Marianne stayed absolutely still for another minute, listening. When silence, and darkness now that the sun had already set, was all that greeted her back for a long time, she shut her eyes and flattened her forehead and nose to the floor. Sweet relief, oh the sweetest relief she had ever felt in her entire life! Her body couldn't stop buzzing with it, it felt so good. Was this what invincibility felt like? Because Marianne was sure she could do backflips for days, or walk through walls.

She stayed lying on her stomach for several minutes, eagerly drinking the feeling all in. It was a foreign sensation, one she rarely had, so she allowed herself to soak in it.

She never thought she'd say it, let alone even think it, but she could have kissed Mrs. Norris. Hah, Filch's cat as her saviour, Ormond would never believe it.

Then again, it probably would be best for his sister's sake that Ormond never heard about this little episode. At least until he graduated from Hogwarts.

No sun meant that it was getting late, Marianne reminded herself. Cautiously crawling out of the hole, looking both ways before emerging, she almost considered skipping to the door but thought better of it, not wanting to push her luck. Peeking through the classroom door and seeing nothing, she raced to the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Luck upon luck, the door was unlocked!

* * *

><p><em>What was I thinking!<em>

Yesterday's overcast skies had cleared, allowing the next morning to be bright and sunny. Marianne stormed through the castle, rushing to get to the Hospital Wing. If the gossip around Gryffindor Tower was to be believed, Ron was now being treated there, having been admitted late last night.

_It's my fault, it's my fault! _she fretted, _I shouldn't have let them go! I knew something bad was going to happen, I just knew it! I'm so stupid, so thick-headed._

Once the sobering dawn had arrived, she understood just how reckless she had been last night. Again, it happened again, she just couldn't see her actions until reaching hindsight.

She apologized automatically as she side-stepped several students to get to the Hospital Wing. Upon reaching the double doors, she unceremoniously pushed through them, immediately spotting Ron's bright red hair like a beacon guiding her. It was as if all those times Marianne couldn't find her voice had built up and now had burst like dam. She couldn't keep control, it was unstoppable.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry!" she squeaked before she even reached the bed. Harry and Hermione whipped around and stared for a moment in surprise but then relaxed once they saw who was coming towards them. "If I had known what was going to happen, I would've stopped you! I would never have forgiven myself if something worse had happened to you all!".

"Marianne, Marianne, shhhh," Harry said soothingly, "it's alright, we're fine."

"Honestly, if anything, you did us a huge favour last night," Hermione added.

"But-but you all could have-"

"Yeah, distracting Filch for us? Pretty gutsy," said Ron with an appreciative nod.

"That's no excuse!" countered Marianne hysterically, "What could've happened-"

"Shhhh," said Ron, "Madam Pomfrey might kick you all out if you're too loud."

They were taking this too well. Still, Marianne listened and forced herself to quiet down but was still quite wound-up. "I'm just...so happy that you're all alright. I hope it didn't hurt too much," she told Ron, wincing at his bandaged leg.

"What, this? Nah." Ron lay back on his pillow. "Barely felt it at all." Hermione distinctly coughed, though it sounded like a disguised snicker.

Genuinely glad that they were all in one piece, Marianne gave a tiny smile. Between yesterday and today, this was a new smiling record not set for a long time.

"Is it also true that you cast a full Patronus?" she asked Harry shyly, nervous that this sudden good mood between the four of them could easily burst. After all, she was still the outsider.

"Er, yes, I suppose I did," he answered, modestly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Incredible," she said with admiration. She felt so forward by having a casual conversation with them, but it felt wonderful to talk with people again. The fact that her audience was tripled at the moment made her slightly on edge and anxious not to say something silly, but the conversation flowed so naturally that it was hard to keep it bottled in.

"And how about you?" asked Ron, inclining his head to Marianne, "What happened after you knocked over the suit of armour?"

Once again, all their eyes were on her. Instead of cowering under their stares this time, Marianne bashfully smiled.

"Oh, no, it was honestly ridiculous, I had no idea what I was doing."

"Oh, go on, tell us" implored Ron eagerly.

Harry and Hermione nodded their assent as well. Marianne's resolve lasted all but a second and crumbled. She told them everything that happened after they had last seen her, every detail down to Filch taking a short cut through the tapestry, to her uncoordinated scurrying under the desks. They even chuckled at her joke of owing Mrs. Norris a can of tuna.

"...and then I got back into the tower."

"And you did that all for us?" said Hermione.

Marianne nodded, suddenly overcome with shyness again. She kept her eyes concentrated on the untucked sheet on the corner of Ron's bed.

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely.

Marianne acknowledged the gratitude but felt strange accepting it. Knocking over the suit of armour was something she did on the spot. Was an impulse still worthy of saying that she thought of it in her right mind?

"Why did you go after us in the first place?" asked Harry curiously.

"Ermm." This was where Marianne got tongue-tied. Now this was a harder story to tell, tougher to explain than just retelling events.

However, she didn't get the chance to say a single word because Madam Pomfrey's office door flew open. She marched swiftly over to the four, motioning her hands.

"Out, out, out," she said briskly, "You're going to upset the patients, they need their rest."

Harry and Hermione made their way to leave but Madam Pomfrey held out an arm.

"Not you, you two can stay, but she can't," she said, pointing to the odd-girl-out. Marianne supposed three was a crowd.

She shuffled towards the double doors, embarassed that she had to be shooed out while in front of the trio but it wasn't as intense this time. It was as if being with people she liked somehow dulled the effects of actions that normally distressed her.

"Actually, I should go, too," said Harry, jogging up the doors and then looking back at his friends, "I have somebody to see."

He swiftly passed Marianne, pushing open the door and ran into the corridor. She followed him out, watching his back when an idea came to her. If someone had told her yesterday that she was going to do this, she would've checked them into St. Mungo's herself.

"Harry?" she timidly called, motivation providing a spark of nerve.

"Hmm?" He stopped and turned to face her.

Marianne wished she hadn't called him now. It was too silly a thing to say, she should just say never mind_. _He looked at her expectantly.

"I was just thinking, if...if you, or Ron, or even Hermione, need any help with your History of Magic homework, I'm...always free." In spite of herself, she managed to cobble together a coherent sentence. Her words hung in the air between them, and when Harry didn't answer right away, she suddenly wished she could suck them all back in.

"I-I mean, you three don't have to if you don't want to, but-"

"Oh right, you're really good at History of Magic, right?" said Harry brightly.

Marianne paused. Was a blush forming in her cheeks? Because Harry looked quite amused.

"I s-suppose it's my best subject," she modestly managed to spit out. Flattery - this was new. It felt just as good as the relief of not being caught by Filch. She almost couldn't look Harry in the eye, she was so ruffled all of a sudden.

"I'll take you up on that offer sometime," he said, "Thanks. Sorry to leave, but I've kind of got to find somebody right now."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Marianne said hurriedly, hoping that she wasn't making him late.

"Bye," he waved over his shoulder.

"Goodbye." Marianne waved back even though Harry couldn't see it.

Then there was silence, something she was familiar with and greeted like an old friend, but this time it wasn't as stifling as before. Flashes of the last twenty-four hours kept replaying in her head in disbelief. If anything, she was now grateful for the quiet because it gave her a chance to plant her feet firmly on the ground. She was as light a feather, feeling like she could float away at any moment from exhileration. Last night was completely reckless, she promised herself to never _ever _do it again, but the reward at the end of it was insanely gratifying.

Mirroring the old ghost's gesture from the previous evening, Marianne clasped her hands behind her back and casually walked down the corridor, not really needing to be anywhere on a Sunday morning. She just allowed her legs to take her anywhere they pleased because her mind was positively buzzing with good feelings, too busy to concentrate on where she was going. At least her eyes still worked to avoid bumping into any objects.

She was so lost in her musing that she couldn't even recall the names of her former friends. Tiffany? Or Tanya, was that it? Marianne supposed it didn't matter now, she felt free to move on. The thoughts of her friends coming back had kept her chained to them all this time. They probably were never going to come back, and Marianne understood. She kept no bitterness, she wasn't even hurt anymore; what was done was done. She was ready to let go.

Despite the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows, it still felt rather cool in the castle. Marianne rubbed her arms. Quite chilly, in fact. A while later, she found herself on the seemingly empty fifth floor until she turned a corner and nearly walked right through the Bloody Baron.

"Oh!" she cried, "I-I'm sorry." She stepped to the side to tactfully walk around him.

"Hrmph," he replied gruffly, "You again."

"I'm sorry?"

Marianne immediately regretted uttering anything when he looked down at her with soulless, black eyes. Defensively, she raised her hands.

"Your act is becoming tiresome," the Baron said in his low, gravelly voice.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," said Marianne as steadily as she could through her trembling. She backed away slowly, more uneasy by the second. The Bloody Baron followed her with his eyes.

"You don't, do you?" the ghost said, unconvinced. He glided closer. "Perhaps it is necessary to scare it out of you, then."

Marianne shielded her face with her arms and stepped back. "Please, stop."

"What's going on here?" asked a light voice.

Marianne peeked one eye out to find the Fat Friar gliding into the corridor through a wall. Gratefully, she ran and stood behind him. Though his transluscent body was as durable a shield as mist, she found comfort in the fact that somebody else was there. The Fat Friar shifted his eyes between the two.

"Must we go through this again?" he asked exasperatedly to the Baron.

The glowering ghost pointed a finger accusingly at Marianne. "This cannot keep going on, she will have to learn."

"Learn what?" Marianne asked hesitantly, "I really don't-"

"Do not pretend to me, girl," the Baron said so low that it made Marianne shiver. His bloody visage was so intimidating that her knees legitimately shook. Before she could stop herself, tears clouded her vision. She had unintentionally incurred the wrath of the most frightening ghost in the whole castle, and for what, she didn't know.

Accidently letting one tear spill suddenly triggered a waterfall. Marianne turned her face away, not wanting the ghosts to see her fright. She glided straight through the wall behind her and disappeared.

The Fat Friar sighed. "Sir, please" he pleaded sadly, "She is but a child. She does not know any better."

"She has been dead for near two hundred years," the Baron intoned gravely, "It is time that she learned she is not a student anymore."

Satisfied, he turned his back to The Friar and hovered in the direction to the Astronomy Tower. The Fat Friar solemnly watched.

"They don't call her Marianne the Muddled for nothing," he muttered to nobody but himself, and then floated away to comfort the poor girl once again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I wish I were talented enough to say that this story poured out of my fingertips and onto the screen...but I'd be a bold-faced liar. This was hard to finish because I had zero confidence in my writing, kept derailing along the way, and then making heaps of changes on what was already done. I only managed to get all the chapters out in this much time because I had started writing each one five months ago.**

**But I'm so glad I got everything worked out in the end. For being so short, this story gave me trouble because it was kind of hard to plan out. I never realized how many times people sigh, their hearts beat, or how much their organs work until I actually had to write a character who functions without them. I feared that because Marianne never had a racing heart, or took a breath, never got tired, and never ate was going to make her less able to connect with readers. I even questioned if I should have given her a sense of smell. And I can't tell you how many times I wrote "Marianne took a deep breath..." or "She sighed" and then I had to backtrack.**

**If my writing is dry, overly-dramatic as heck, worse than detention with Filch, let me know. But it's not over, stay tuned! There's an epilogue coming up that will, hopefully, answer many questions.**

**A million thanks to katchile94, The Agent of Fire, and Madokaism for their exceptional reviews, and to the readers (I see you lurking out there, don't be shy). Your continued support is what spurs me to write.**


	5. Epilogue: Part 1

**A/N: Oops, sorry guys, looks like I spoke too soon. I was thinking that this last part would be able to be one chapter, but as I kept typing, it was just getting way too long. I guess, technically, this won't be the last chapter after all. I'll have to cut up the epilogue into pieces. So while there's not exactly **_**new **_**chapters, there's still going to be more after this one.**

**This chapter was really draining while writing it, I've never written something like this before. I spent more than 20 hours writing and re-writing the emotional parts, trying to get it right. I really hope I managed it.**

* * *

><p>Fourth year had certainly started out of the ordinary, even for Hogwarts standards. The halls of the castle were alive with the humming of students talking about the Triwizard Tournament and of Mad-Eye Moody's unsettling appearance. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, after the welcoming feast, managed to wiggle out of the Great Hall, beating after-dinner traffic.<p>

"First day back and you already need to go to the library?" complained Ron, keeping in step with Hermione's swift pace, Harry trotting behind them.

"If you know anywhere else where the school stores their yearbooks, I'm all ears," Hermione answered impatiently.

"Hogwarts has yearbooks?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry thought it best to remain silent; he didn't know that Hogwarts yearbooks existed either. He didn't want to spend the bulk of the year getting reacquainted with the library as a result, as per Hermione's urging.

Soon they entered the cavernous library. Hermione took a slow sniff in through the nose, notably relaxing, as if the knowledge was floating in the air. It lasted all but a few seconds, though, when she set off determinedly. The boys followed; they'd be lying if they said that Marianne the Muddled hadn't crossed their minds a couple times during the summer break. They were just as curious. Marianne never did have the chance to tell them the reason she helped them out, and Harry made sure that when he passed her in the common room whenever she pinned her Lost and Found note, he would ask. That is, if she still remembered them. Her Lost and Found notes were rather infrequent, sometimes ranging between a week apart to two months. If she was absent for a while, it was difficult to predict her routine.

"The school has been around for a thousand years already. How on earth do you expect to find Marianne's year in all this?" asked Ron once Hermione led them to a more shadowy, dusty area of the library, near the Restricted Section. The yearbooks spanned three large bookcases, each shelf carrying at least five decades.

"Simple. I asked The Fat Friar."

"What? When?"

"An hour before we left at the end of third year."

"You mean two months ago?" Ron deadpanned.

"Well, yes."

Hermione noticed Ron's rather surly attitude. "Oh come on, Ron," she said, "Marianne stuck her neck out for us, which isn't anything to scoff at, considering she thinks she's still alive."

"It's not that I'm not grateful. In fact, I'm plenty grateful that she saved our hides. If we were caught, mum would've tanned mine and hung it over the mantle to serve as a lesson to the family. And Marianne is nice enough."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'd talk to her more if she weren't so...dead."

Hermione reached high up on the shelf, shaking her head. "That's gratitude for you."

"It'd be like Harry hanging out with Moaning Myrtle," said Ron defensively.

Harry fought an involuntary shudder. Moaning Myrtle was bearable, fine even, when he knew that she usually stayed in her girl's toilets on the second floor, but it made him feel rather disturbed if Myrtle suddenly decided to hang out with him. Myrtle meant well - sometimes - but Harry hoped he wouldn't have many run-ins with her this year.

"I don't mean any harm," said Ron, "I'm just thinking realistically."

Hermione spotted the year she had been looking for and gave the book a sturdy yank, sending down a swirling cloud of dust and dislodging fat dust bunnies.

"I understand what you mean, but it's not like she can help it," she said, sweeping off the grime and setting down the book on a nearby table.

The pages within it were warped and yellowed but still strong. Hermione wasted no time in flipping through it. "I've asked around, and no one really seems to know much about her. According to the other ghosts, she died from some sort of accident but doesn't realise it...for some strange reason."

"How can you not know you've died?" asked Harry.

Hermione leafed through more pages. "Haven't a clue."

Harry and Ron watched over her shoulder. Regular students names were organized into two columns per page and written in neatly slanted handwriting, starting and ending with a flourish. Professors, Heads, and prefects, however, had their own portraits painted and immortalized into the book. The figures within them all moved, true to Wizarding World custom.

"Wilford, Wilford, Wilford..." muttered Hermione under her breath, sweeping the names with a keen eye.

"Hang on," Harry cut in, flipping pages towards the beginning. He stopped on a full page picture. "There she is."

Marianne´s portrait stared up at them with a weak smile. Her current ghostly sheen had lightened her features considerably, for the Marianne in the picture had dark blue eyes rather than the grey she had now. Her former hair color was also darker, an ashy blond, but it was unmistakeably her, right down to the posture. Even if the three friends had any doubts, the caption at the bottom would have confirmed it.

_**IN MEMORIAM  
>Marianne Agnes Wilford<strong>_

The girl in the portrait waved serenely to the three, unassuming and innocent. She was peaceful, removed from the high-strung mindset she carried with her now. Harry felt a small twinge of sympathy that made him chew the inside of his cheek; Marianne was only around thirteen when she died, the same age as he was when she knocked over the suit of armour for them.

"There isn't any other information here," huffed Hermione in frustration. She turned the page from Marianne's picture. "The Friar said that she had a brother."

The pages crackled when moved and didn't bend very well. They were made of thick parchment that was so stiff that Hermione was having difficulty in grabbing the corners. To go faster, she thumbed through, keeping an eye out for a flash of color or movement.

It didn't take long to find other portraits. She fell upon a section with several esteemed-looking professors, and then came the Head Boy and Girl. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gazed in interest, for there was the usual one Head Girl, but instead of a single Head Boy, there were two listed: ones 'Kent, Thaddeus' and 'Wilford, Ormond', each having their own full page painting.

Thaddeus Kent sat seriously, and had a would-be handsome face if his mouth hadn´t been set in a grim line. Though Ormond's pose was dignified like the other two, he was the only one smiling invitingly. Dirty-blond hair hung over his forehead in windswept waves, and he had a jaw that was square and compact. He waved confidently at his small audience, jovial.

"This has to be him," said Hermione positively, pressing her finger right on his face.

"How do you know he's not a cousin or something?" inquired Ron.

"Because-"

"Ah, not a very good year, I'm afraid," mused a voice right beside the three.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced up. The ghost of an old man had been casually leaning over their table, viewing the yearbook with them. His voice was warbly and dry as though he would cough up dust whenever he spoke. His cheeks sagged, and his lips curled inward, covering gums that only held three teeth. Bent from age, his shoulders slouched forward. His eyes twinkled good-naturedly.

"We were just looking for a friend," said Hermione quickly but politely, recognizing him.

The old man nodded in understanding and leaned forward in pretend conspiracy. "It would not be presumptuous of me to assume this friend is deceased, would it?" he whispered, eyes flicking to the nearly two-hundred year old book and then back to the young Gryffindor.

"Not at all," replied Hermione, She swung her attention back to the picture of Ormond and studied it closely.

"Sir," interrupted Harry, getting a flash of inspiration from recalling where he had seen the old man before, "Would you happen to know anything about Marianne the Muh-I mean-Wilford?"

The more Harry learned about Marianne, the more disrespectful it felt to call her by her title rather than her real name. Just by knowing that she had a brother, it didn't make her seem like much of a lone entity anymore, unattached to anything suggesting that she was alive once.

The old man paused, contemplating the question.

"It may interest you to know that nobody has asked about Marianne in quite some time. In fact, I believe the last person who did was your own Professor McGonagall when she was a student in this very castle."

"Do you or the other ghosts mind being asked about your deaths?" interjected Ron, his blunt question earning a sharp elbow from Hermione.

The ghost didn't seem at all bothered. "Not necessarily. We simply enjoy telling stories of when we were alive, whether it's ending was actually joyful or not. It makes us feel as if we will be remembered, that we will still go on long after we've passed on. I believe Sir Nicholas is quite popular in that respect, although it is almost always about why he is referred to as 'Nearly-Headless'. He rather laments the fact that nobody bothers to ask as to how he acquired knighthood."

"Has anyone ever asked about your death?" continued Ron, rubbing the sore spot on his arm.

The old ghost shook his head, a bitter smile on his face.

"Not once. It is for the best. My life was not exciting enough to be bestowed a paragraph in books, as history favours the tragic and the triumphant. I led a long, happy life, which is too mundane."

"Then what still ties you to Hogwarts?" asked Hermione automatically before coming to the realisation of her brash question. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer if it is a matter you'd rather be kept private-"

"Do not apologize," the ghost said kindly, raising a palm, "I will answer any question you ask of me, if you've the interest. But, oh, forgive me dear boy," he turned to Harry, "I had not answered your question pertaining to Marianne. I fear I have a tendancy to derail. Old age, you know. As many of the ghosts within this castle can say, yes, I am able to tell you about her, most assuredly."

"We really appreciate it," beamed Hermione, "Thank you...Ormond."

The old man didn't look at all surprised, but he inclined his head towards the bushy-haired girl. "How did you know?" he asked softly.

"The Head Boy in this portrait looks much like you, subtracting some years."

"Perceptive girl," commended Ormond, impressed. He stole a nostalgic glance at his younger self in the portrait. "Admittedly, I have seen better days."

"I see the family resemblance as well. You look similar to her, you know."

The old man's haggard face brightened and a small smile threatened to pull the corners of his thin lips. His eyes sparkled as if he could have never been paid a higher compliment.

"Thank you," he whispered so genuinely that his voice cracked.

Ormond took a moment to compose himself, rubbing his cheek uncertainly as though unsure of where to start. Any trace of the pride he had in his face before had soon evaporated, replaced by seriousness. His eyes grew distant and he looked out of the library window to the evening sun, trying to put his thoughts together like a jigsaw puzzle.

"Despite not telling this story to a soul for over half a century," he started gradually, choosing his words with care, "I can still see it clear as day within my mind. Although, thinking of it everyday doesn't make it any less difficult to tell. It is why I am still here...I want people to know her, to understand."

* * *

><p><em>The expansive Hogwarts lawn glowed a healthy green under the late April sun. Students took to lazily roaming the grounds, walking off their dinner and enjoying the last few hours of sunlight before turning in.<em>

_Ormond took a deep breath through the nose, filling his lungs with the smell of fresh grass, and patrolling as per Head Boy duties. But that didn't mean that a few of his friends couldn't tag along - which they did, loudly making their presence known._

_The rowdy group of four boys rose to five when Thaddeus Kent came bounding out of nowhere and threw himself onto Reginald Sands' back, almost throwing him off balance if it weren't for his sturdy frame; Reginald still stumbled from being caught by surprise, anyway._

_"Yet another spectacular performance from this man!" shouted Thaddeus triumphantly, ruffling Reginald's thick, black hair, "He will play Keeper in the professional league, you lot mark my words."_

_Reginald heaved his broad shoulders, sending his friend sprawling onto the ground with an "Oomph!"_

_"Do not be so hasty," the hulking boy said calmly in his deep voice, doing the best he could to hide his excitement, "The scouts have not yet sent their results."_

_"Nonsense, it is as good as done after your performance today!" exclaimed the excitable Thaddeus, wiping loose grass off his sleeve and out of his light brown hair. "Not a single Quaffle got by you, not a one. T'was a work of art, Reggie, a work of art."_

_The other boys all nodded in agreement, congratulating and patting the Gryffindor Keeper on the back, laughing uproariously._

_"Erm, Ormond?" a timid voice mumbled from behind them, barely heard over the noise._

_The smile on Ormond's face lessened. His sister had snuck up on them, unnoticed, making herself look as small as possible. He sighed; she always looked this way when approaching him while he was busy entertaining with friends._

_"What is it, Marianne?" he asked briskly, the shadow of laughter still in his voice. He didn't mean for the question to come out impatiently, but he knew that she understood how tight on time he was nowadays._

_"Mother and Father's package arrived. I have not opened it yet, I thought that perhaps we should together. It is in the tower if you would like to open it with me."_

_Thaddeus popped his head up from the back of the group, smiling and waving. "Why, if it isn't Marianne," he chirped._

_Marianne's chin shyly tilted down. She raised a hand to wave back and then used it to pull a strand of hair behind her ear. A rosy color flooded her cheeks. "G-good evening, Thaddeus."_

_"Still getting O's in History of Magic?"_

_Marianne nodded hard, suddenly unable to look her brother's friend in the eye, and developed a great interest in her shoes._

_"Excellent, excellent," praised Thaddeus._

_"Marianne," Ormond cut in, in the hope that he could shoo her away, "Is there anything else you must do? I believe Mother and Father were very upset with your Transfiguration marks last term."_

_The young girl's rosy blush now turned into a rather harsh red. She squirmed, twisting her feet inward and crossing her arms.  
><em>_  
>"Y-yes," she managed to say, too embarassed to meet the eyes of any of the boys listening in.<em>

_"I suggest you go to the common room for some more practice. You need it. You want to graduate from third year, do you not? Exams are coming up. I shall meet you after sundown to collect my contents of the package. Off with you now." It wasn't a command, a suggestion more like, but Ormond knew that his sister was obedient to him - he never had to be forceful._

_Marianne silently nodded her understanding. Without even meeting her brother's uncompromising look, she excused herself and made her way to the castle, walking a little faster than necessary._

_"Oh, be hospitable," teased Thaddeus, lightly punching Ormond's arm, "I have four sisters myself. Marianne knows not of her actions at this age."_

_"Do not misunderstand my lectures to her, I only look out for her best interests. I do wish she would make the effort to find a friend or two; she would certainly pester me less. She has been a thorn in my side for some time now. Speaking of school work and pests, I believe you still need to finish your half of our Potions results."_

_"Taken care of," said Thaddeus proudly._

_"Oh?"_

_"Yes. At sunrise, five minutes before Potions lessons."_

_"On with you, Thaddeus!" chuckled Ormond. He playfully pushed his friend towards the castle so hard that he stumbled, catching his balance by only his toes and fingertips._

_"You abuse your power, Wilford!" remarked Thaddeus as he righted himself, mimicking the whiny voice of Digby Zorion, the Slytherin who was always at odds with the prefects and Heads._

_Ormond crossed his arms and raised an unamused eyebrow, as was his usual response to Zorion's antics. He could not hold it for long, however, and a grin cracked his stony face._

_"I suppose it will be all your fault that I never graduate," he sighed dramatically - his marks were stellar in everything but Divination - "I will not have you ride on my coattails when we have to repeat our seventh year. By the way, I believe I last saw Georgina reading in the Common Room." He gave his friend a knowing look._

_Thaddeus' eyebrows raised. He did not hesitate. "Well, it has been a pleasure chatting with you fine gentlemen," he announced, turning instantly on his heel and bounding for the distant castle, calling over his shoulder, "but my education is at stake!"_

_"Hmm, 'bout time I turned in for the night as well," said Reginald with a shrug, watching their friend go, "Quidditch practice at dawn and all that."_

_"Say no more," beamed Ormond, clapping the Keeper on his shoulder. He had to lift his arm a bit higher, for Reginald's shoulder was at Ormond's eye-level._

_The two other tag-alongs also had their own school work to finish; they bid Ormond a good night and followed Reginald up the slope towards the double doors of the castle._

_The grounds were bathed in the fading sun's rich orange light. With his friends gone, Ormond's mind became lighter and focused. He allowed the buzzing chatter that still echoed in his head to drain. Taking a deep sniff of the grass-scented air once again, he casually slipped his hands behind his back, finding it a wonderfully picturesque moment to stroll and patrol to at the same time. Ever since his promotion to Head Boy, calm moments such as these were hard to come by and he wanted to absorb every last bit of it. He cherished the company of his friends, but they were hardly the best people to have around when he needed a quiet moment to relax._

_More and more students headed indoors as their shadows grew longer, leaving Ormond with just a handful to watch over. It was a welcome relief; the less strain, the better - especially now since he had begun work on studying for his NEWTs. True to it's name, they really were nastily exhausting._

_He passed by two sixth-year boys, Ravenclaws if he recalled correctly, who stood a few meters away from the shoreline of the enormous lake and surrounded by a flurry of moths that were attracted by the illuminated tip of one of their wands. Ormond continued on his way, not giving the boys a second glance, when a brilliant flash of green light erupted from behind him._

_His body went rigid in the moment of being caught off-guard. In the split seconds of his suspended conciousness, hearing nothing but the slapping sound of lake water, he soon realised that he was feeling no effects. He touched his face gingerly. It _felt_ normal, but without seeing his reflection, he couldn't be sure that he was unmarked. He looked at his hands, twisting them every which way, and looked down at his feet, but couldn't see any obvious changes._

_Still unsure of whether or not he was actually okay, he angrily turned around to face whoever had the gall to cast a spell on somebody whose back was turned. The two sixth-year boys were the only ones within sight, but they weren't facing Ormond, they were facing the haze of moths._

_"Try it again," said the stockier one, lifting his lit wand higher to allow for better visibility._

_His companion pointed his wand to one of the moths, trying to hold it steady enough to keep up with the insect's erratic flapping. "Avada Kedavra," he said confidently. The same green flash flared. The moth froze in mid-air, then fluttered to the ground._

* * *

><p>"He didn't!" gasped Hermione.<p>

Ormond nodded grimly. "Quite jarring, especially in this age, to see it used so thoughtlessly. But back then, laws on the Unforgiveable Curses were vague, even lax in comparison to standards set now. While still looked down upon when used against people, the spell was considered acceptable to use in ordinary situations such as de-gnoming."

"That's barbaric. Not to mention morally and completely careless to even use such a spell in the first place," lamented Hermione.

"Completely careless," echoed the ghost, nodding his head in agreement.

"My apologies for interrupting, Mr. Wilford. Please, go on..."

* * *

><p><em>Ormond was aghast. He didn't know what made him move, but when he did, he was like a train moving downhill without brakes.<em>

_"Fools!" he roared so hard that his vision blurred, "Bloody fools!"_

_The Ravenclaws gasped and whipped around to see the absolutely livid Head Boy charging at them._

_"Reckless! Unthinkable!" Ormond was rarely at a loss for words, for they came so easily and eloquently for him, but his rage had severed his ability to think of anything outside of seeking punishment for the two. The last time he had yelled had been so long ago that he hardly remembered it; he had never yelled at a Hogwarts student before, he never needed to, for they were kept in line by his demeanor that warranted respect._

_"Calm yourself," said the Ravenclaw who conjured the deadly spell, "It is but a moth."_

_Ormond wouldn't hear any of it. "Do you not understand the gravity of your actions? Dark Magic is incredibly unstable. You could have killed your friend here, or even yourself! Just because Defence Against The Dark Arts teaches the Unforgivables does not mean they are for your use. We are shown as a preventative measure only!"_

_The Ravenclaw leaned back on one leg as if bracing himself to dodge Ormond, but he still puffed out his chest self-righteously. "I am well able to handle a wand, thank you. I am merely applying practical use to-"_

_"We are _not_ taught to use them." Ormond brought himself up to his full height, making the Ravenclaws unintentionally flinch, though they quickly recovered. "Now you listen here. You will both consider yourselves lucky that I do not know your names, nor will I ask for them. This incident will not be reported, so long as you both comprehend your stupidity. Do I make myself clear?"_

_The stocky one nodded his assent right away. The other, however, maintained his attitude of being justified. He looked at the Head Boy with hard eyebrows, fighting a scoff, but having no choice other than to agree, he bitterly replied, "Yes."_

_Ormond refused to say any more. He walked away from the lake to continue his patrol, but he was seething, even after putting a distance between himself and the sixth-year boys. His mouth still tingled from the scolding. It was unlike him to lose grip on his self-control, but it was entirely necessary in this case._

_Minutes later, his heartbeat returned to normal and his face felt less hot, but the aftermath of the incident made the grass not smell as sweet as before, and the sun's light seemed dull._

_The warning bell that rang fifteen minutes before curfew echoed clearly throughout the grounds, signalling the students to return to their dormitories. Ormond walked slowly, looking over his shoulder for stragglers, for it was his duty to supervise and confirm that students were returning in an orderly fashion. Sure enough, the two Ravenclaws that he reprimanded earlier had appeared from a good way off. Ormond slowed down more, wanting them to pass so that he could watch their backs._

_Not paying attention, he walked into a flickering cloud of flying insects. He spat and swatted until he walked out of it, noting a bat that was circling above. It swooped down effortlessly to catch a few of the bugs in it's mouth._

_The Ravenclaw boys had caught up behind Ormond, for he could hear one of them say, "Look, a bat."_

_The next few seconds went by so fast that Ormond didn't even have time to blink. From behind him was a commotion. He heard the sound of stomping and panting coming from his side._

_"Ormond! Ormond, look, Mother and Father sent-"_

_"Avada Kedav-NO, WAIT!"_

_The two voices blended together into such a rush of sound that Ormond couldn't even split them apart. A flash of blinding green light appeared from behind him once again. Like lightning, he whipped around and came face-to-face with Marianne who was grinning from ear to ear when she fell into his chest, legs collapsing from under her. Ormond opened his arms and caught her but was thrown off balance and knocked backwards. By reflex, he wrapped his arms around Marianne's head and pulled her close before they fell to the ground with a thud. He landed smartly on his backside, his brain rattling painfully within his skull, but he managed to break her fall._

_"Marianne, what in the world!" he cried, attempting to push her off so that he could reprimand whoever caused the sudden burst of light._

_The Ravenclaw's eyes were trained on the entangled siblings, wide and unblinking, his wand frozen in the air. His lips trembled terribly and the blood drained from his face._

_"Was once not enough for you?" Ormond growled to him from his position on the ground. He made to stand but couldn't for the weight draped across his legs. "And Marianne, I expect better of you! This is undignified."_

_He turned Marianne over and nestled her head in the crook of his strong arm. He flexed in agitation to lift her up._

_Marianne's smile was melting away. Dark blue eyes, glassy and round, stared at the setting sun which was reflected in them. Her lips parted, and soon her jaw went slack._

_"Now really, I have not the time for this," said Ormond impatiently, bending his knees in preparation to get back up. "Marianne, are you listening?"_

_With one arm supporting her neck, he shook her shoulder with his free hand which made her head wobble. "Come now, this is not funny," he warned._

_No response. He reached for her hand. It was warm but hung limp within his own. His stomach didn't feel right._

_"I am not playing your game, Marianne. Stop it," he said, ignoring the growing chill in his heart._

_The stocky Ravenclaw boy bolted for the castle, pumping as fast as his short legs would allow. His companion stayed rooted to the spot, motionless as a statue, wand still held aloft._

_"What did you do to her?" shot Ormond fiercely, but his eyebrows were knotted in uncertainty, betraying his nerves. The Ravenclaw's lips shuddered but no sound came. He couldn't push a single word, and, as a result, Ormond immediately ignored him. He studied Marianne's face entirely. Something was wrong._

_"Marianne, come now," encouraged Ormond softly, hoping that using a gentler voice would make her less afraid to answer. She was beginning to scare him, but he held fast to his restraint. He swept his hand across her forehead to brush away some hair, anticipating a reaction. His sister was unfazed by the gesture, maintaining her eerie, unblinking stare._

_"You were about to tell me something. What was it?" He didn't care at all what she had to tell him, he just wanted her to speak. The sun's reflection in her eyes was unsettling. Ormond brushed his thumb across her cheek._

_"Marianne, come to," he tried again, but Marianne would not. Ormond's stomach tightened unpleasantly. He patted her cheek in short, swift taps. "Come to!"_

_The fight for control of his emotions went over the edge. The chill from his heart spilled into his blood, running it cold. He was frightened. Very frightened. His eyes darted frantically over Marianne's body, searching for a sign. Any sign._

_"Marianne!" he called firmly now, a demand to answer._

_Ormond brought his ear close to Marianne's mouth, but he couldn't hear nor feel the rush of breath. Ormond's heart was in freefall. He grabbed his sister's shoulder desperately and shook it so hard that he threatened to break it._

_"MARIANNE!"_

_Five leftover students gathered, their attention drawn by the disturbance. Forming a circle around the Head Boy, a Slytherin fifth-year clapped a hand to her mouth in horror once she saw what Ormond was holding, and madly sprinted to the castle._

_"What happened, what´s wrong with her?" squeaked a small, female Hufflepuff, clutching her fingernails over her mouth._

_Ormond shivered as he stared into Marianne's blank gaze, oblivious to anyone and everything surrounding them both; for all he knew, nobody else was there. He rubbed his sister's eyelid in an attempt to make her flinch, but nothing happened. There was no one behind her eyes, they were not staring back. Ormond's lungs shrank, holding his breath hostage. He retracted a stiffening hand from Marianne's cheek in disbelief, quivering so hard that his fingers clawed._

_His mind shifted feverishly between his unresponsive sister, the Ravenclaw's raised wand, and the green flash. The flapping of the bat's wings was audible above him; it hadn't been hit. The pieces connected. And it slammed into him like a brick wall._

_"No..."_

_He examined his sister's face in terror...in dawning comprehension._

_"NOOO!" he screamed so loudly that his voice came undone, stretched far beyond it's limits. "NO, NO, NOO!"_

_The cries were so gutteral, so animalistic that many of the students backed away instantly. Ormond curled Marianne's limp body into his lap tightly and rocked back and forth as if she were a small child, burying his face into her shoulder and howling. Tears streaked his cheeks and dripped from his chin, landing in Marianne's hair._

_The Hogwarts double doors were blasted open with a crash that could be heard all the way to the gathered crowd. Professor Webb dashed onto the grounds, robes flying behind him, followed in-step by the terrified Slytherin fifth-year._

_Ormond would not be pried from his sister. A hand touched his shoulder, but he wrenched it away violently._

_"LEAVE ME!" he bellowed, struggling through choking sobs that wracked his body so sharply that it hurt. He couldn't even feel the pain. He cradled Marianne's head against him, smoothing her hair and repeating her name over and over again, unable to speak anything else. The ground was collapsing beneath him. His sister was the only thing keeping him from falling entirely._

_Professor Webb arrived to the circle in a frenzy. "What happened?!" he demanded._

_"I-I-I'm sorry!" the Ravenclaw choked, forcing out the words in an almost unintelligible blur, "I-I did not mean to!"_

_Professor Webb didn't seem to hear him. "Stand back! Stand back!" he shouted, spreading his arms to keep the small crowd at a distance. The gathered students lifted their Lumos-activated wands up high to see better, for the sun had already sank below the horizon._

_The voices were so far away to Ormond, despite the teacher's robes brushing his arm. Almost blind from tears, he opened his eyes when he heard the commands to back away._

_"Help her!" he begged Webb, grabbing a fistful of the professor's robes, "Help her, please!"_

_The teacher kneeled at Ormond's side to examine Marianne. He brought two fingers to her neck, feeling for any pulse. Ormond's tears flowed strongly, smearing his face. He watched Webb searchingly, trying to read for the smallest trace of hope. Nobody dared to breathe, as if it would smother any hint of life within Marianne. After many tense seconds, Webb sighed forlornly, shaking his head._

_"I am sorry, my boy."_

_"No!" Rage bubbled from Ormond's gut and he held Marianne protectively. "Get Madam Reeve, she can do something, I know she can!"_

_The infirmary nurse would know what to do, he was sure of it! He didn't even know for sure what spell had struck his sister; she could just be in a deep trance, an effect similar to the Draught of Living Death. He clawed to hope, hanging by his fingernails onto anything he could. Anything._

_Two more professors had hurried onto the grounds and pushed their way through, one gasping and taking a step back at the sight that lay before her. The other made to reach for Marianne, but Ormond angrily twisted his torso, pulling his sister away from them. He wanted to bring Marianne to the infirmary himself but he couldn't even feel his legs. His bones were wobbly and as unsteady as liquid. He felt heavy, like the weight of the world was trying to crush him flat to the ground._

_"Come with us, son," soothed Professor Tremblay, wrapping her hand gently around the boy's elbow in an attempt unwrap his stone grip._

_"GET AWAY!" screamed Ormond, causing the teachers to back off, "You will not take her from me!"_

_"We must get him to the infirmary immediately," urged Tremblay to the other professors. The fact that there was no hope for the girl went unsaid but it hung in the air, thick and discomforting._

_Webb conjured a stretcher and kneeled beside Ormond, trying to coax him into it. "I promise," he said to the crying boy sympathetically, "You will be alright."_

_"Leave me be!" Ormond wailed. He wasn't begging nor asking. They had no right to part him and Marianne. He was her brother, he was going to protect her._

_The minutes that passed were intense but Ormond would not give in; he kept shaking his head hard whenever someone tried to reason with him. He kept rocking back and forth, hysterically crying into Marianne's shoulder, rejecting everything they said._

_Fools the lot of them were,_ _he thought angrily. Their lies pierced him like arrows. Marianne was going to be fine if they could just get her to Madam Reeve, they didn't know what they were talking about. To think that he had respect for them once when they stood before him now, claiming that they could not - would not - fix her._

_"Ormond, here, give her to me," someone said out of the haze, putting a hand on his shoulder._

* * *

><p><em>The news had spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, having reached the Gryffindor Common Room in little time.<em>

_"The Head Boy..." many said in a frenzy, "Yes, the Head Boy and his sister. Some terrible accident."_

_Georgina, the Head Girl, pressed a hand to her mouth. "Ormond?"_

_"What? Where?" Thaddeus demanded, standing off the sofa he and Georgina were sitting on in an instant. The ink pot and Potions essay tumbled out of his lap, the ink bleeding into the parchment and rug._

_"Near the lake."_

_Thaddeus sprang from the Common Room like a shot and sprinted out of the Fat Lady's portrait, shoving through people on the staircases. He slammed painfully into the double entrance doors to get them open, lifting a leg against one of them for stability as he heaved the other open. He was able to spot the crowd by their lighted wands acting as a beacon._

_Once he had shoved his way to the center, Marianne was what he saw first, and his heart leapt into his throat. Cheek resting on Ormond's shoulder, her glassy eyes stared up at him without seeing. Her right hand lay open-palmed on the grass, having fallen through her brother's embrace. Thaddeus kneeled, grabbing for Marianne's cooled hand._

_"There is nothing you can do, Kent," Webb said with sorrow._

_"What happened?" asked Thaddeus, unable to look away from the horrible sight._

_"We will figure that out later, he is in no fit state to tell us. Right now, we must get Mr. Wilford to Madam Reeve. But we cannot allow him take Marianne with him, we must alert their parents. They do not know yet. Plans will have to be made to send her body home."_

_Referring to Marianne as just a 'body' was chilling to Thaddeus, hammering home the fact that she was empty now. The traits and habits that made her what she was were no more. The images of Mr. and Mrs. Wilford materialized in his mind. Strong, proud Achilles, bent in despair. Proper, devoted Tristeza, collapsing from the news._

_"There is a fireplace in one of the dungeon offices," instructed Webb to the other teachers, "The Wilfords will be contacted by floo. The little one's body will be enshrouded there until her parents are ready to have their daughter sent home."_

_"Her name is Marianne!" snarled Thaddeus, unappreciative of the disregard in not calling the deceased by their name._

_"My apologies, son," said Webb sincerely. "Yes, of course, Marianne."_

_He rolled back his sleeves and lifted his wand. "Stand back, please, Mr. Kent."_

_"What are you doing?"_

_"We must transfer her to the castle."_

_"By magic?" He could not allow it. It was impersonal. Ormond would not want it, he was sure of it. Thaddeus moved directly in front of Webb._

_"Ormond, here, give her to me," he said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder._

* * *

><p><em>Ormond was doing his best to ignore the world around him, but the touch burned, anchoring him back to an unwanted reality. He swatted the hand away angrily, wishing to float away again, to be suspended in time where no one could reach him and his sister. His eyes were so tightly shut that he could see white spots dancing against the black. He could not feel the ground beneath him, nothing but the solid Marianne he had his arms wrapped around.<em>

_Thaddeus dodged his friend's swipe with a twist of his neck, feeling the breeze as it missed._

_"Ormond, it's me, Thaddeus," the person said._

_Ormond's eyes stung badly when he opened them. "Help her," he rasped, and then coughed from his sobs, "Help her, please." His sight was so blurred that he couldn't see his friend's face, mere inches from his own._

_In their many years as friends, Thaddeus had never seen Ormond so small, so feeble. And Marianne...he couldn't think about it. Her eyes haunted him every time he blinked. Her face was turned away from him now, but he couldn't escape the nauseating sight of her immobile body. He clenched his stomach in an effort not to throw up.  
><em>_  
>But he knew that Ormond would not want Marianne to be forcefully taken, to be magically suspended in the air to be moved. It would be undignified in the Head Boy's eyes; disrepectful. He would want human hands to hold her until the very end.<em>

_"Go to the infirmary," Thaddeus said to his friend in what he hoped was reassuringly, taking charge in the absence of guidance, "I will take her for you."_

_Ormond gave a great shuddering sniff and shook his head, putting a hand securely to the back of his sister's head._

_"Ormond, I promise you," assured Thaddeus, trying with all his might to keep his voice steady, holding his friend's shoulders firmly as though it would keep him from falling apart, "Marianne will be with me, she will be safe. I promise, I've got her for you."_

_Ormond didn't answer, breathing shallowly but sharply. His fingers steadfastly held to Marianne's head with his thumb brushing against her hair as if he were soothing her, but it was more for his own benefit. The professors waited, stiff, watching the broken boy for his answer. Finally, Ormond pursed his lips and nodded._

_"Good man," breathed Thaddeus, patting his friend's shoulder, "Good man."_

_Ormond waited several seconds, closing his eyes and holding absolutely still. No one knew if he was preparing himself to hand over Marianne or not. He coughed again weakly, and took deep, shuddering breaths. Then slowly, inch by agonizing inch, drew Marianne away from him. Her hair was stuck to his wet cheek, falling away when he rested her in the crook of his arm once again. He lovingly brushed the stray strands away from her face._

_He looked to Thaddeus with bloodshot eyes and swollen eyelids, pleading in silence. Thaddeus nodded nobly and reached for Marianne. Ormond did not hand her over, as though afraid that she would shatter if he let her go, but allowed for Thaddeus to delicately replace his arm underneath her neck and then hook his other arm underneath her knees._

_Thaddeus paused, not wanting the parting to be sudden. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began to ease Marianne out of Ormond's rigid grasp. Ormond whimpered, making Thaddeus feel like a monster. Guilt ravenously ate away at his insides. But it had to be done. He stalled for a couple seconds, waiting until Ormond was able to quiet himself, and then resumed until Marianne was lifted out of her brother's lap._

_It was a weight that Ormond did not want lifted. Fresh tears welled up, spilling as he felt his sister be pulled farther and farther away from him, leaving an empty, cold spot where her body had lain. He reached for her hanging hand desperately as Thaddeus supported Marianne against himself and rose from his knees to his feet. Ormond couldn't hold onto her anymore, he was too weak to get up and follow her, and was forced to relinquish. The moment their hands parted, Ormond's heart tore entirely. The thread connecting the siblings had been severed, and he crumbled flat onto the ground._

_The professors were there to catch him in a flash, holding the boy from underneath his arms to support him. Tremblay used her wand to lift Ormond onto the stretcher. No sooner had he landed on it when he wailed in agony._

_"Nooo," he moaned so pitifully that Thaddeus had to turn away, "No, noooo."_

_Webb stayed behind as the stretcher, guided by the other two professors, floated to the castle. The crowd of students dispersed to make way for it, some following, others staring at the lifeless body held devotedly in Thaddeus' arms. The Ravenclaw was long gone._

_"I will give you a moment, Kent," said Webb, holding his lit wand. He motioned for the surrounding students to leave to their dormitories._

_Even as Ormond floated further away and faded into the darkness, Thaddeus could still hear the strained sounds of pain. He hoisted Marianne to get a better grip, feeling her slipping. Not able to look away any longer, he studied her face in sorrow, gingerly leaning her head snuggly against his chest. If it weren't for the open eyes, it would just look as if she were comfortably sleeping and Thaddeus was carrying her off to bed. The memory of her talking to him just a mere hour ago triggered something deep within his gut. His jaw locked as he fought to stop his eyes from stinging._

_Shouts rang out of the darkness. Thaddeus jolted and squinted into the black from where the disturbance was coming from. Ormond materialized out of the darkness and was barreling towards them, Tremblay and the other professor giving chase._

_"I will not leave her! I will not leave her! Forgive me! Forgive me, Marianne!" wailed Ormond._

_Halfway towards his target, he tripped and pitched face first onto the grass with an "umph!". Arms outstretched, he glided on his stomach, the force of the fall throwing his feet into the air. Only momentarily hindered, he scrambled on his elbows and knees determinedly to haul himself back up, panting madly._

_"Stop! Come back, Wilford!" called Tremblay._

_Ormond ignored them and kept stumbling forward, face smeared with dirt, eyes wild and bugging out of their sockets. Thaddeus stood rooted to the spot, bracing himself for the impact - it didn't matter if he ran, there would be no rest until Ormond held Marianne again._

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

_The spell hit Ormond in the back. His body seized up instantly, straight as a plank. He crashed face down to the ground, the momentum from running almost causing him to flip over his head. _

_"No!" shouted Thaddeus, horrified. Webb gasped._

_The professors had now caught up, panicked and out of breath as they assessed Ormond who had rolled onto his back, eyes trained to the heavens._

_"Now really, Alvina," admonished Webb in bewilderment, "The boy is in grieving! That was not necessary."_

_"It had to be done," Tremblay admitted with deep regret._

_A lone tear fell from Ormond's eye. The professors raised the boy once again onto the stretcher and disappeared into the night._

_Webb sighed deeply, holding his elbow and resting his chin on his palm in reflection. He exchanged a glance with Thaddeus who was overwhelmed at what had happened. A heavy silence consumed them._

_"Follow me, Kent," Webb finally said, taking one last heavyhearted look at Marianne before starting for the castle._

_Thaddeus hoisted the small body in his arms again, cradling it safely. Marianne's chin rested on her chest, closing her slackened mouth. It was a hollow feeling in holding something devoid of life that only an hour ago had not. Carrying her felt not much different from holding one of his own sisters. The heartache that Ormond was feeling, Thaddeus could not even begin to imagine. He had always known Ormond as mild-tempered, always maintaining a calm resolve in the face of all challenges. But this challenge was too much._

_Solemnly, Thaddeus studied Marianne's face one more time, the silence allowing him to connect with the little girl before he would have to bring her to the castle and say goodbye. Her voice, small as it was, echoed in his ears still. Her dreams of being a History of Magic teacher crushed._

_He brought his head in close. "Go in peace," he whispered._

_Balancing her legs on one knee, he used two fingers to gently, and finally, close her eyes._

_**To Be Continued...**_


	6. Epilogue: Part 2

_The double doors to the Hospital Wing flew open, startling Madam Reeve._

_"Alvina!" she gasped, clutching a hand to her heart as Tremblay walked in, "What is the meaning of this? These children are trying to-". Her sentence cut short when she heard a terrible groan._

_"I apologize, but it is urgent," rushed Tremblay, "The boy is distraught. His sister fell victim to an accident."_

_Madam Reeve expected the girl to be brought in but instead saw Ormond Wilford lying on the stretcher. Followed by the third professor, Webb acted as a guide by bringing it into the room._

_Madam Reeve didn't hesitate to rush to the nearest available bed and pull back the sheets._

_Ormond groaned again. The third professor sympathetically placed her hand on his shoulder. Instead of quelling the boy, it made him grunt loudly and lash out against his newly-applied restraints. For their own safety, and his, the professors had bound him to the stretcher. Ormond lay his head back down as though the outburst had exhausted every fiber of him._

_"Please," he begged, draining the last of his pride, "Marianne needs me. Let me go, let me see her."_

_"And where is his sister?" Madam Reeve asked Tremblay, patting the pillow to signal Webb, studying Ormond's condition._

_Tremblay paused, unsure of whether or not to answer in Ormond's presence. Though Madam Reeve had her hands full in transferring him into the bed, her lips were pursed in anticipation._

_"She did not survive," answered Tremblay heavily._

_"Liar," snapped Ormond in agitation, "You only need bring her here!"._

_He struggled against the Madam Reeve's grip, wrenching and twisting his shoulders. She fumbled to pin his shoulders to the bed while Webb tried his best to restrain Ormond's kicking feet, receiving a knee to the chin for his efforts. Madam Reeve's silver-streaked black hair fell out of her bun in wisps in the struggle._

_"Alvina," grunted Webb, "Restrain him now!"._

_Tremblay's lips were pressed so tightly that they became white. She raised her wand, conjuring two thick leather straps that snaked up from the sides of the hospital bed and buckled themselves tightly over the hysterical boy's torso and legs. Two more appeared on either side and fastened his hands tightly to the mattress. Webb tested his jaw when he was certain that he could let go._

_"You cannot do this to me!" wailed Ormond as he strained his arms against the bonds, "You have no right, no right! Where did you take my sister?!"_

_He scrunched his eyes and threw his head violently backwards into the pillow, it being the only part of his body not strapped down. He should have never trusted them. He should have never given Marianne to anybody. How could they be sure if they never checked her properly? He bashed his head again and again into the pillow, the only thing he could control himself to do._

_Madam Reeve made swiftly for the tall medicine cabinet near the office, her loose hair bobbing behind her. The well-organized contents clinked as she pulled out a short, softly-rounded, sky-blue glass bottle._

_"There, there, now" said Madam Reeve sympathetically as she appeared at Ormond's bedside and poured the milky, syrupy potion into a large spoon. She somehow managed to expertly slip it into his mouth after missing once or twice._

_Ormond felt an overwhelming, comforting warmth start in his throat, following the potion's trail down into his stomach where it began to spread. His head felt weightless, and his eyelids fluttered before he could even try to keep them open._

* * *

><p><em>All he could see was black. He was awake but too exhausted to open his eyes. The suspended seconds between wake and sleep, of being unaware of anything but his own body, was short-lived. His back was cramped from hunching over from the night previous. It felt so far away, but at the same time so near, like he had only witnessed it from above and not lived it.<em>

_He remembered very little, but as he lay there against the pillow, swirling shapes against the black of his eyelids triggered a hard-hitting memory. By rubbing his own dirt stained fingers together, he saw Marianne's limp body supported in Thaddeus's arms. And Marianne._

_Ormond's eyelids tightened. He could still feel exactly where his sister had lain on him, like she'd left an imprint. The last thing Marianne heard him say to her was "Off with you now", as though she were unwanted. Guilt gripped his heart like a fist. The further back he traced their recent conversations, the more the fist tightened. They echoed unpleasantly in his head._

"I have no time for this."

"Go off and study. Mother and Father are expecting better marks from you this term."

"I am sorry for your disappointment, but I promised my friends I'd go with them to Hogsmeade."

_His sinuses began to sting badly. He finally opened his eyes when he felt the trickle of tears slide down the sides of his face. He pressed his lips tight but a shuddering sob escaped. Pushing the image of Marianne out of his mind, trying to only imagine darkness, absolutely nothing, kept making her come back clearer each time. He could see the pain he had caused etched into her face. He could now see the lines of her forehead as her brow furrowed in disappointment._

_Ormond pressed his palms to his forehead to make the image stop, as though pressure would push it further back into the forgotten place of his mind, but it wouldn't leave. He knew it would never leave. It wasn't the incident itself, it was the fact that it was just the tip of more memories that he was sure would haunt him for a long time._

_He gave a great sniff and made a strained sound against his throat that was silent to everyone but himself. Just as the night before, Ormond felt suspended between admitting that Marianne was dead and that it was all a bad dream. Sharp, silent sobs shrank his chest._

_Madam Reeve appeared by his side in a hurry._

_"Oh, my dear," she soothed, standing over Ormond and brushing away the hair caught in his fingers, "I am so very sorry."_

_Ormond wanted to be left alone and yet he wanted someone with him more than ever. He wanted his parents and yet dreaded meeting them, for their faces would only confirm death. Without seeing them, he could blame this breakdown on a temporary bout of madness. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Madam Reeve. To her eternal credit, she said nothing and sat down next to him, returning his hold._

_Comforted that someone was able to be a pillar, Ormond spilled every bit of heartache into Madam Reeve's shoulder. She rubbed Ormond's back in a reassuring motion and lightly rocked back and forth._

_Ormond didn't know how long they stayed that way but eventually Madam Reeve was able to coax him into taking another spoonful of the calming potion. He didn't put up a fight this time and opened his mouth. He welcomed the chance to escape into sleep again, no matter how temporary. The more he could push away the inevitable, the better everything felt._

* * *

><p><em>Ormond awoke hours later in the afternoon, gently being shaken by Madam Reeve.<em>

_"Up you get," she said softly, "The Headmaster's here to escort you home."_

_Headmaster Sorrell Finbar stood at the foot of the bed patiently with a solemn expression on his face and hands clasped behind his back. He was a short man - most seventh-years had already overtaken him in height - with a scruffy, grey beard that reached his neck. The dome of his head was bald, but he always kept the band of hair he still had from ear-to-ear short and well groomed._

_Once Ormond was on his feet, the Headmaster spoke._

_"Come along," he said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder to steer him. "Do not worry about your things here, your necessities will be sent to you soon after."_

_Ormond would have obeyed any command he was given at the moment. His body was drained of energy, leaving his mind vulnerable to suggestion. He could barely even muster the stamina to lift his gaze from the floor._

_Finbar led him to a side table; perched on top of it was a ragged feather duster, missing half of it's plummage._

_"Are you familiar with portkeys, Mr. Wilford?" asked Finbar._

_"I'm awa-." Ormond's voice cracked. It was a struggle to use it. "I'm aware of how they work, sir, but I have no first-hand experience."_

_"Do not worry, I shall be accompanying you," said Finbar reassuringly, "Now, you may feel a discomforting sensation. On the count of three, you will place your finger on it. Are you ready, Mr. Wilford?"_

_Ormond wasn't ready at all and hesitated before placing his finger on the feather duster's handle. The sharp jerk at his navel, like being pulled by a hook, was something he read about but it wasn't what he dreaded. It was seeing his parents confirming his nightmare. They were the last safety net in that there was still hope. Their faces would be all he needed to see before he truly believed that his sister was gone. The last dregs of sleep disappeared from his eyes, exposing him to what awaited in waking: an empty sense of loss and knowing that it was all real._

_Ormond kept his eyes tightly closed as they kept spinning. Just before nausea overtook him, his feet landed on solid ground. Or wood, since his feet made a hollow thump on the ground. Unaware that he had even descended, his knees buckled on impact, causing him to nearly crash to the floor of his cottage-style home._

_"Easy, easy there," said Finbar, catching and steadying him._

_"Ormond!"_

_Before he could focus and stop the spinning in his head, Mrs. Wilford threw her arms around her son. Ormond steadied himself by latching onto her. Looking over the top of his mother's blond hair, he saw his father watching them with watery, red-rimmed eyes. For all his life, Ormond had never known a time when his father cried, and it broke his heart. Behind Mr. Wilford was the dining room table with someone lying on it, a white sheet draped over her, only a silhouette visible._

* * *

><p><em>Marianne's funeral commenced the next morning. The sky was of the brightest blue, a warm breeze rustled the grass, and birds sang in their trees; a mockery of what was taking place downhill on the Wilford property.<em>

_Mr. Wilford shook the priest's hand in both of his gratefully. "Thank you for coming such a long way, Father Townley."_

_Ormond shooed a butterfly off the open casket, and dutifully straightened the red ribbon in Marianne's hair for the third time. He didn't like it, it was too bright for her face, making her bloodless complexion more noticeable in contrast. Mrs. Wilford had patted some blush on her daughter's cheeks to give the illusion that Marianne was only sleeping, but it was in vain. The difference between sleep and death was always apparent._

_The chairs that had been set up for his friends stood empty. His fingers curled into a fist. He glared at the seats, not really taking them in. Nobody, not one of them came. Not even ever-reliable Thaddeus who was always patient and accomodating with Marianne. Perhaps they had their excuses, perhaps Ormond was asking too much of them, but he had already made his decision. A friend who couldn't step forward and be there for him in his time of need was no friend of his._

_Mr. and Mrs. Wilford were receiving condolences from some cousins, past the chairs, near the willow tree, whilst other family members were in groups having their own discussions. Ormond was all alone with the casket and he was glad for it. He would feel less silly talking to Marianne that way. He clasped his hand with hers, linking their thumbs and using his other hand to press her fingers around his own in a feeble attempt to make it seem like she was returning the squeeze. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against their joined hands. This was going to be the last time he would ever be able to see her, he made sure to soak in every feeling, every contour, every scent to preserve the last moment he would know with his sister._

_And then the image of the smug Ravenclaw boy who caused all of this appeared in his head._

_"He'll pay for what he did to you," Ormond rasped, feeling his jaw clench, "I promise. It's not fair._ _It's_ not fair_."_

_He opened his eyes, his sight cloud by tears which he angrily blinked away. He didn't know whether or not the Ravenclaw boy was caught, punished, or had even confessed, but he did hope with all of his might that the guilt was dissolving the boy's insides like acid. He wished that he knew the Ravenclaw's name so that he could curse it until kingdom come._

_"Ormond?" said a gentle, female voice behind him._

_Not letting go of Marianne, Ormond looked over his shoulder to find Polly Brooke, the neighboring farmer's daughter, with a sympathetic look on her face. He easily placed the grey eyes and freckled nose, but she looked different now - though Ormond owed that to not seeing or speaking to her in years. She had to have been about sixteen, a year younger than he. Her black hair had grown since then, reaching to the base of her back. She still looked as gangly and awkward as ever, though only a few feet taller now._

_Before he had gone to Hogwarts, Polly had been his and Marianne's playmate. Because of her being a muggle, Ormond and Marianne were always cautioned by their parents to keep their magic a secret. Ormond understood and considered it a duty, while Marianne, being younger and less understanding of the world, had to be watched in case she let anything slip._

_There had been many close calls, such as when the children had visited the Brooke's home and Marianne commented on why Mrs. Brooke was drying the dishes by hand when she could just use magic - the method Marianne knew as the normal way to wash them. Mrs. Brooke laughed at Marianne's imagination and said she wished such a thing existed. Before Marianne could say anything further, Ormond pinched her arm and glared. Though confused at her brother's anger, Marianne clammed up and shamefully rubbed the sore spot on her arm._

_Once Ormond had left for Hogwarts, Marianne occasionally played with Polly but they soon drifted. Polly was kind to Marianne, but they were not quite compatible due to their age difference. Marianne was more like Ormond's little sister than a friend. When Ormond returned for the summer, the three of them picked up where they had left off the previous year. It went on like that until Ormond's fourth year when they stopped going over to eachother's houses. There was no reason for it, they did not have a disagreement, they just didn't visit eachother anymore. The only explaination Ormond had was that they simply grew up. And it went on like that for years. Since then, Ormond had only ever seen Polly from a distance, tending to her prized tulip garden._

_But here she was now, holding one of her healthy, rose-colored flowers tightly in her hands._

_"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically, walking up to him, "I am so very sorry."_

_Ormond nodded. "Thank you for coming, Polly." He meant it. She was the only friend of his, whether former or current, who had actually turned up._

_"Of course," she replied. She placed the tulip on the table supporting Marianne, right beside the casket, and then stood back._

_After a few moments of silence, she asked, "How did it happen?"_

_"It shouldn't have," replied Ormond bitterly, his grip tightening on Marianne's fingers, "He claimed it was an accident, but he had been warned several times that he was going to get someone killed. Warned by me, no less. I should have told the Headmaster when I had the chance. I should not have let him get off easy!"_

_He was speaking more to himself by the end, straining to steady his voice. Polly held up her hands._

_"I apologize, I should not have brought it up," she said quickly to quell his building temper, "That was incredibly untactful on my part, I shouldn't have reminded you."_

_Ormond's grip lessened. "No...no, it's alright," he said, swallowing his anger. "It was nothing you said, you do not have to apologize."_

_"I'll leave you alone with her," said Polly in understanding.  
><em>_  
>Ormond nodded. "Thank you." He didn't watch her walk away.<em>

_He stroked his thumb across Marianne's, feeling his throat close in preparation to cry but he had long ago exhausted his tears. He couldn't cry even if he was magicked into doing so, they had transitioned into an overall numb feeling. He never thought of tears as limited, but it turns out they were._

_After Polly left, Mr. Wilford appeared beside his son and stared at the unmoving face of his daughter in silent pain. He barely recognized her face being so still, it was almost as though a stranger were lying in the casket instead; or as though he didn't want to recognize Marianne's face and was trying to pretend it was someone else._

_Mr. Wilford sniffed and uncharacteristically wiped his nose on his expensive sleeve. He sighed with an air of finality and placed a hand on Ormond's shoulder. "Ready?" he said._

_"No," Ormond answered, but it wasn't as if his reply would change anything. Marianne would still be lowered into the ground, and they certainly couldn't go back to Hogwarts as if the whole thing had never happened._

_Finally, he uncurled his fingers from Marianne's - more of a goodbye than anything he could have spoken. He straightened her ribbon one more time._

_Things were going to be very different now._

* * *

><p><em>The next morning when Ormond went down to breakfast, the atmosphere was drained. His father sat at the table, eating the last of his eggs before Apparating to work, while Mrs. Wilford washed the dishes. His parents greeted him the same way they always had before, but there was a black cloud hanging over everyone, a void felt but unsaid. And that's how it was for days after. It was very difficult adjusting to life as a trio; there was always going to be an empty space just out of the corner of their eye.<em>

_Each night after dinner, the Wilford family simply took to sitting at their kitchen table and just talking, something they rarely did before; reason being they were busy with their respective work. It was therapeutic in a way, but in the end, the conversation would always turn to Marianne. Sometimes it was joyous as they recalled happier times, her habits, or stories that stood out in their minds, finding a way to laugh again. Other times the air got thick when they recalled that when they woke up in the morning she wouldn't be there._

_Mr. Wilford buried himself in his work. He told his wife that he could fill the paperwork on his own. Tristeza brought up an arguement that she didn't want him to be alone. Neither of them would bring up the real reason why, but Ormond sensed it because he felt it too. Marianne's death made them all incredibly aware of eachother's mortality. All of their conversations went like that now; there was an underlying message that they didn't really want to bring up in case they upset one another._

_Every day, Ormond would walk down the hill to visit Marianne's grave to straighten and water the flowers left there. Then he would lay down on the grass beside it, stare up at the sky, and think for an hour or so. Nobody bothered him during this time, which he was glad for. However, on the third day since the funeral, as he walked down the hill to the grave, he was caught by surprise to see someone kneeling in front of the headstone, talking. He recognized the long black hair._

_"Polly?" he said hesitantly._

_Polly started and whipped her head around. "Ormond! You gave me a fright." She looked back to the grave and then back at him. "I'm sorry, am I trespassing? I just wanted to say a few parting words. I can leave if you wish me to."_

_There was a tulip in her hands again. In the distance, Ormond could see Polly's flourishing flowers beside the Brooke household. She had plucked them from her very own garden to place upon the grave._

_"Actually, I wouldn't mind the company today," he said warmly, and sat down next to her._

_While their conversation was rather stiff from not seeing eachother in so long, Ormond was able to catch up on a lot of things with the Brooke family. When Polly asked questions about his school he kept them vague, keeping in mind that she was a muggle._

_Before they knew it, hours had gone by. They had only just realized the time when Ormond was called in for dinner. He rose and dusted loose grass off his trousers._

_"Thanks, Polly," he said, "It helps."_

_"Anytime," she replied with a kind-hearted smile. She turned to leave but not before saying good night to Marianne, a gesture appreciated by Ormond._

_The twilight hour had come by the time the Wilford's finished their supper when there was a knock at the door. They hadn't been expecting company at this time, but nevertheless, Ormond stood up before his parents did to answer it._

_Thaddeus stood at the entrance, holding a red rose wreath in front of him like a shield. Ormond paused, his hold tightening on the door knob. Nothing could be heard but the chorus of crickets in the field._

_"I know what you're going to say," started Thaddeus, breaking their silence._

_"You've got a lot of nerve coming here," accused Ormond, stepping out of the doorframe, causing Thaddeus to back away defensively. "I asked you all to be here when we buried her. I asked each of you to help me cope, bolster me when I could not, and not a single one of you did so much as send a reply. I'm sorry that was a task too much to ask of you."_

_He spat his last words out as unapologetically as he could. Perhaps all this time he had mistaken those admirers for friends. It didn't matter to him whether or not he was being fair, neither was his sister's death. The absence of a few of them for whatever reason was understandable, but all of them? Thaddeus especially, one of his best friends since Sorting._

_Thaddeus' shoulders slumped, lowering the wreath. "Please," he begged, "Just hear what I have to say and then I shall leave."_

_Ormond crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to show that he was listening. Thaddeus took the quiet as his cue._

_"I did not come here to speak on behalf of the others, I speak only for myself. I did not know that they did not attend either. I could not get Marianne's ceaseless stare out of my mind when I did not arrive for the wake, but I hope you can understand why I did not."_

_A picture formed in Ormond's mind of the night Marianne was killed, when he rolled off the stretcher and tried to get her body back. He had seen her being carried, but at the time did not register who was lifting her, his only goal was to reach his sister. Then he remembered Thaddeus pulling Marianne out of his lap. Ormond bit his lip. As angry as he was, he was grateful for what his friend did. There was an unpleasant twist in his stomach._

_"You see, after you had gone home, Finbar called me to his office," Thaddeus continued, running a hand through his bristly brown hair. "He told me that in your absence of being Head Boy, he was appointing me as a temporary replacement."_

_Ormond scoffed and crossed his arms, the bitterness returning. "You expect me to believe that? Thaddeus 'Last Minute' Kent, detention hound, as Head Boy? And why would Finbar appoint you without even asking whether or not you would be able to fulfill your duty?"_

_"I accepted without thinking. I understand you are territorial of your position-"_

_"I am not, I simply find it hard to believe that you were the best candidate."_

_That wasn't the complete truth, though, and Ormond knew it. Thaddeus was quite efficient in leadership and school-work despite his penchant for finishing at the last minute, and the occasional detention in previous years. But Thaddeus had made greater strides this year. Perhaps this was Finbar's method of strengthening Thaddeus' better traits; or perhaps it was just to keep the boy distracted from thinking about what he had seen the night that Marianne was killed._

_Ormond steadied himself for the retort, but Thaddeus did not defend himself or verbally push back. Instead he looked at the ground. "I understand that you do not want to see me, you don't even have to forgive me, but do know that I would have attended if there were any possible way I could."_

_Ormond blinked. He was rarely unsure of himself, but he felt a flicker of guilt for having spoken so low of his friend. It was odd, very odd to see Thaddeus subdued and serious, almost as if a stranger was assuming his skin._

_A thick pause hovered between them until Thaddeus spoke again, staring at the doorframe as he recalled details. "I carried her, Ormond. And if asked, I would have done it again. Marianne did not deserve this."_

_Before Ormond could answer, Mrs. Wilford called from the kitchen, her footsteps getting closer. "Darling? Whomever are you speaking to? Oh. Good evening, Thaddeus," she said with a weary smile as she appeared in the doorway._

_Thaddeus snapped to attention in rigid posture and offered the rose wreath. "Mrs. Wilford, on behalf of the entire Kent family, we extend our deepest condolences for your tragic loss. The doors to our home, and our hearts, will always remain open for you in your time of need."_

_Mrs. Wilford pursed her lips and accepted the wreath, taking a moment to admire it. She pressed it to her chest in appreciation. "That is very kind, the Wilfords thank you and your family. Your Headmaster told me of what you did for my Marianne, and I shall never forget it. Won't you join us for tea?" She stepped aside to let him in._

_"Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Wilford, but I'm afraid I cannot," said Thaddeus sincerely. "Finbar has allowed me temporary leave only for tonight. I am expected back at Hogwarts soon, I have a portkey waiting for me."_

_"Such a shame. But remember that your company is always welcome here. When you see your family again, do tell them how much we appreciate the sentiment."_

_"Of course," said Thaddeus. He nodded his head to her, and then to Ormond. "Mrs. Wilford, have a pleasant night. Ormond, I shall see you again at school. Take care."_

_Ormond felt the compulsion to say something, but exactly what, he did not know. The impulse felt apologetic, yet he still felt his anger was justified in some way and he couldn't tell if he was right or if it was his pride stopping him. Thaddeus had since disappeared down the hill._

_"Such a wonderful boy," beamed Mrs. Wilford. She guided her son inside by the shoulder and closed the door._

_Ormond fell out of his contemplating and held out his hands for the wreath. "I'll take it to Marianne in the morning, Mother."_

* * *

><p><em>He was allowed to stay home for however long he needed, but found himself getting restless from wallowing in his own somber mood. He needed something to keep him busy. The next morning, five days after the funeral, he told his parents that he was ready to go back to Hogwarts. They agreed that it was for the best that he continue his school work instead of sulking, and they contacted Finbar.<em>

_Before the Headmaster arrived to escort him back to Hogwarts, Ormond picked up the wreath he left near the front door. "Just a few minutes," he told his parents._

_Upon reaching the tombstone, he placed the wreath in front. It framed Marianne's name and dates perfectly, not a single word obscured. He stood back and clasped his hands in front of him in a show of respect._

_"It will feel so strange knowing you won't be going back with me," he whispered, suppressing his sudden urge to cry. He had managed to for the past few days, he didn't want to do it now. "It will never be the same."_

_He could barely say it without his throat closing. As expected, the tombstone stayed silent, which somehow made the situation worse. Ormond's vision blurred, but he stuck fast to his iron will and blinked quickly. "I will visit you again in two months."_

_Before he turned around, he could see Polly in the corner of his eye, watching him._

_"Going back to school again soon?" she asked, holding her hands behind her back._

_"I am," replied Ormond, concentrating on the flowers surrounding the grave._

_Polly seemed to read his mind. "I will water them for you while you're gone," she said, not as a suggestion but a statement._

_Ormond looked at her keenly. Was she volunteering? "Are you sure? I will not force you or make you feel obligated to-"_

_"I am absolutely certain. You do not have to worry, Marianne will be fine with me," she smiled, knowing that the flowers weren't the only thing bothering him. "I promise you."_

I promise you. _Those same words Thaddeus uttered before he cradled Marianne in his arms._

_Ormond's brow furrowed. "Thank you," he whispered, but the words felt so inadequate._

_"It is no trouble, I assure you," nodded Polly. Her grey eyes flickered over Ormond's shoulder to the top of the hill. "I believe your mother is calling you."_

_Ormond turned around to see Mrs. Wilford waving at him. Sorrell Finbar was right behind her._

_"Oh. Well, I suppose I should get going." He turned back to Polly, but was at a loss of what to do. Was a hug appropriate? A polite goodbye? Should he have thanked her again? His gratitude was immense, after all, and he wanted her to know it. Polly stood there as if anticipating him to say something. When he didn't, she spoke first._

_"Have a good few months at school," she grinned.  
><em>_  
>Ormond nodded. "Goodbye. Until the summer, then."<em>

_He waved to Polly who returned the gesture, took one last look at Marianne's headstone, and began his ascent up the hill._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Don't worry, guys! I haven't abandoned this story, I just had some trouble organizing the events in this chapter. Worst of all, back in August I had a refresher course on what it feels like when someone close to you dies, so I didn't feel very up to writing this chapter for a long time, considering the subject matter.**

**I think I've got a good grip on this again. I originally intended the epilogue to be told in just one chapter, but it just kept expanding to fit in all the explainations and it got out of control. Oops.  
><strong>**  
>I also did a re-read of all the previous chapters and found heaps of mistakes, bad wording, and clunky sentences. That's not the kind of shoddy quality my readers deserve! I went and fixed many of them, but you don't have to re-read the whole thing again. I didn't change anything story-wise.<strong>

**Huge thanks to all who have favorited, alerted, or just plain read this story and for sticking with me through these few months with no updates. You're all terrific! Stay tuned, there's more on the way.**


	7. Epilogue: Part 3

_Once they had appeared back in the Headmaster's office, Finbar offered his sympathies again and asked if there was anything else the boy needed, but there was nothing he could do for Ormond; nothing that was humanly possible anyway._

_"Thank you, sir," said Ormond with a respectful bow of his head. He left down the spiraling staircase, making his way to the portrait of the Fat Lady in a haze.  
><em>  
><em>Hogwarts was just the way he had left it, but the castle felt very different now. The Gryffindor common room was missing the most important piece to him. He knew, though, that it was he who had changed, not Hogwarts; the world never stopped, it kept going on without him. How did one break the habit of feeling someone's presence after they had been with you for most of your life?<em>

_In his detatchment, he reached the portrait sooner than expected, only to find Thaddeus waiting outside, leaning against the wall. Thaddeus looked up when he heard footsteps. Ormond slowed down but did not break the eye contact they just entered. Thaddeus unfolded his arms and stood up straight. Ormond supposed that his friend was waiting for him to speak first, but he wasn't sure of what could possibly be said after their last encounter when Ormond regarded his friend so coldly. He had tossed around the idea of apologizing to Thaddeus but couldn't figure out a way to approach it._

_Their stares turned awkward. Ormond was the first to look away._

_"Welcome back," said Thaddeus hesitantly, unsure of what to make of his friend's current mood._

_Ormond bit his lip and nodded at the floor. "Thank you."_

_"Think nothing of it. I waited here to make sure you - "_

_"No, I mean...thank you for visiting yesterday."_

_Thaddeus lips parted to say something. He paused, then closed his mouth. Silence drew itself over the two, the weight of it sagging their shoulders._

_"Anytime," Thaddeus answered after some thick seconds._

_Before he could prepare himself for it, Ormond opened his arms and hugged him. Thaddeus froze, unsure of what to do. Never in their years had they hugged. There were, of course, friendly handshakes and playful arms slung around the shoulders, but never an actual embrace, especially one with much gratitude behind it. Thaddeus relaxed and patted Ormond's back sympathetically, then gradually returned the hold._

_"Anytime," Thaddeus repeated._

_The animosity Ormond felt towards his friend for the past few days evaporated instantly. He let go and clapped Thaddeus' shoulder, blinking away the sting in his eyes._

_"I apologize for my attitude yesterday," said Ormond, ashamed._

_Thaddeus waved his hand sternly like he was swatting the apology away. "Do not say that, it is not your fault. I cannot say that I understand how your loss truly feels. However, I will say that in whichever way you need to act out your grief, I shall understand."_

_The portrait swung open with Georgina emerging.  
><em>_  
>"Thaddeus, is he here yet-? Ormond!" she squeaked, spotting him. Thaddeus stepped aside as she rushed over and clasped Ormond's hand in both of her own. "My absolute <em>_sincerest condolences," she said sadly._

_While entering the common room, Georgina told him of the school memorial service the school held while he was gone, which Ormond appreciated. A crowd made of up of his friends and admirers surrounded him in a flock. They offered their sympathy, but the words felt empty to Ormond. By the sound of it, his classmates sounded more troubled that such a terrible loss happened to him rather than it being Marianne who died. At first he thought their words as heartfelt until he realized that they were basically saying it was an unfair thing to happen to _him_. Not a single mention of Marianne's name._

_Ormond's fingers curled into a fist and a frown lined his face. He excused himself from the circle quickly before his temper sparked. They may have meant well but his emotions had been shorted for quite some time now, and even he didn't know when little things such as these could trigger anger._

_A week passed in a blur of homework and self-awareness. Seven whole days passed where he did not cry. Just when he thought he was going to be alright and that the worst of the pain was over, a new wave of anguish from out of nowhere would overtake him, even during menial tasks where he wasn't thinking of Marianne at all._

_Time did not dull the ache, it only made him feel worse. After the funeral, the fact simply was that his sister was gone and he'd never see her again. It dawned on him after a few weeks of what that really meant once he tried adjusting to a life with Marianne no longer in it. He wouldn't be able to hug her, he wouldn't be able to toast a Butterbeer with her, he'd never hear her ask about proper wand technique again, or see her grow up. That hurt most of all. She was forever stuck in time as a young girl who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time._

_Teachers did not call on Ormond anymore, and he supposed he preferred it that way. His mind simply would not absorb as much information as it normally did before the accident. Classes did not hold the same allure, and what was left of his friends and aquaintances decided it best to leave Ormond to himself when what he wanted most was for someone to talk to; not to tell him that things would get better, or to be strong, but just someone to listen. Which was why he was so grateful for Thaddeus and Georgina's company; they just seemed to be always be around whenever they were needed, like they were watching over him. He never considered Georgina as a friend before, but he could be inclined to admit that she was acting as though she'd been one all his life._

_Being the odd one out, the third wheel, was such a foreign feeling to Ormond. He thought of Polly at that moment. Choosing to leave Thaddeus and Georgina alone, he busied himself by writing a letter to his friend back at home. So as not to arouse Polly's suspicion through mail delivered by a non-nocturnal owl, the bird was given instructions to deliver it to his parents home. The letter contained the next step for his Mr. and Mrs. Wilford to follow._

_Ormond settled back into his old routine like a peg, if only to occupy his mind. On the next Monday night, long after the sun had set, he lounged in one of the comfortable armchairs near the fireplace, writing a Potions essay. He took a short break occasionally re-read the already twice-read letter that Polly sent.  
><em>_  
>"Are you not going to bed?" asked Thaddeus, standing and noting the thinning crowd in the common room.<em>

_"Perhaps later," said Ormond, not looking up from his homework._

_"Something wrong?"_

_"No. Why?" Ormond was concentrating on the parchment but the question was genuine._

_"You seem to be throwing yourself into your work a lot more."_

_"And what is wrong with that?" asked Ormond curiously, tilting his head up._

_"Nothing, I suppose, it is just that your diligence to schoolwork seems to have...increased lately."_

_Ormond raised his eyebrows as a sign to implore Thaddeus to go on._

_"Just..." Thaddeus paused and licked his lips, trying to pick his words delicately. "If there is something that is troubling you, do not hesitate to voice it."_

_Ormond then understood. Thaddeus hadn't wanted to upset him with a reminder. "I appreciate your concern, really, but I promise I am well."_

_Thaddeus didn't look quite convinced. Nevertheless, he nodded shallowly. "I see. Well, you know where to find me should you need to speak to anyone."_

_"I know," said Ormond, using a fond tone to let Thaddeus know how much he depended on him in the last few weeks._

_Once they exchanged good nights, Thaddeus climbed the stairs to the seventh-year boys dormitory. The fire shrank gradually, reduced to a pleasant, comfortable crackle. The last Gryffindor to head off to bed was a frazzled looking second-year boy poring over his Potions book, leaving Ormond to his solitude. His essay had been completed an hour ago but it remained on his lap for he felt no inclination to leave the comfortable armchair. The plush stuffing eased his back and invited him to doze for a minute or two._

_The sound of rustling parchment broke the calm. Perhaps he wasn't as alone as he previously thought. He lazily turned his head, following the noise to a corner in the opposite side of the room. His homework fell to the floor as he jolted violently into a standing position, nearly launching himself backwards into the fireplace._

_"Marianne?!" he rasped, hardly daring to believe it, even feeling silly for speaking to it. "What are you doing here?!"_

_A short, semi-transparent figure was pinning a note on the Lost and Found bulletin board. Ormond blinked several times, trying to clear the grey smudge in his vision that mocked him with it's hazy resemblance to Marianne. When it wouldn't clear, he rubbed his eyes so hard that he saw stars. Still, the image would not go away. He hoped the apparition wouldn't answer his question, proving that it was only a trick of the light, an optical illusion, a castle ghost that only bared resemblance to his sister._

_The figure started at Ormond's outburst. It stood to face him, and he knew then that it was no smudge in his eye. Marianne's look of surprise was no stranger. That was her expression when he actually took time to speak to her._

_"My schoolbag has gone missing," she said as though it were entirely normal for her to be standing in the Gryffindor common room._

_Ormond heard her voice clear as day, but not a single word registered. She was standing_ there_, right in front of him. To keep his hands from rattling he clenched the red sofa hard._

_"Ormond? Are you alright?" Marianne asked curiously, stepping forward._

_"This cannot be, y-you are dead," wheezed Ormond. Speaking those words hammered in the final nail, the seal that forever convinced him that his sister was truly deceased. He never wanted to say them, he wanted to keep thinking that Marianne was off in classes like normal, that she'd just enter the room like that dark day never happened._

_Something broke inside him and he couldn't control an escaping sob. Marianne's expression melted into concern, and she bounded to him in an instant._

_"What are you talking about? Do not be silly. Look, I am right here, I am not dead," she said desperately to calm him. She glanced nervously up the staircases in case they would both get reprimanded for the noise._

_Ormond buried his face into his hands and shook his head, backing away. Grief was only manifesting itself into what he wanted to see. His mind was projecting his former life out of habit, that's all it was. She wasn't there. She could not be there. He never thought he'd fear for his sanity when the time came to see his sister again._

_"You are not here, you are not here," he muttered impatiently to himself. He clawed his fingers in his hair and shook his head violently to beat the image of Marianne out of his mind. The cruelty of his imagination was taunting him._

_"Ormond, please, tell me what is wrong with you. Is it something I did? I am really sorry if I-"_

_"No!" Ormond nearly screamed. He didn't care whether this apparition of Marianne was in his head or not, he would not have her say that. "No! Do not dare blame yourself for _anything, _do you_ _understand me?"_

_Marianne jumped at his outburst and took a giant step back. "I can fetch you help if you need something. Anything," she pressed on, fidgeting and looking unsure of what to do._

_Despite being much smaller, she closed the distance between the two and supported her brother's hunched over shoulders to get him to stand up straighter. Ormond shuddered from a sudden wave of sharp cold, but was also astonished to find that she was quite solid. He could even wrap his arms around her. Which he then did immediately. His crashing hug was so tremendous that if she were alive the wind would have been knocked out of her. He hated that Marianne was frigid, hollow, and wispy to the touch, like his arms could almost fall through, but it was better than nothing at all. His breath shuddered from the cold._

_"I love you so much, Marianne."_

_Ormond could hear confusion in her casual voice. "Ormond? What are you-?"_

_"Shhh. Listen," he said, ignoring hot tears in his eyes._

_Marianne was as stiff as a board, but he felt her nod on his shoulder. "Very well," she said slowly._

_Ormond sniffled and took a moment to absorb the feeling of being able to hug his sister in whatever form, something he thought he'd never be able to do again. "I have been the worst brother to you."_

_Marianne flinched as if to protest, but Ormond put his hand to the back of her head and cradled it against his throat. He fought a shiver from the coldness seeping through his robes, but he would not let go. He refused to. His heart sank knowing that no matter how long they stayed that way he could not warm her._

_"In any life, Marianne," he started slowly, "It does not matter how alone you could be, might be, will be, your brother has got you. There will never be a time when you are unloved. You will _always_ have mine. Do you understand?"_

_She didn't answer._

_"Marianne?"_

_He could feel her nodding into his shoulder. "Yes," she answered meekly._

_"Good."_

_A hush wrapped around the embraced siblings, like they were in their own world, their own bubble._

_"Ormond?" said Marianne quietly._

_"Hm?"_

_"I love you, too."_

_A throbbing sensation took hold of Ormond's heart, like it had split right down the middle. A fresh wave of tears blurred his sight, but at the same time a weightlessness took hold. His body felt lighter than it had in weeks. Her words weren't quite the forgiveness he sought, but to hear that his sister didn't hate him was the greatest relief._

_A long, quiet moment passed, broken only by Ormond's occasional sniffling. His knees were weakening from standing too long, but it barely mattered._

_"You should get to bed," said Marianne finally, patting his back._

_"But I have so much to talk to you about," said Ormond, unlatching himself._

_Marianne raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It cannot wait until tomorrow? We have all the time in the world."_

_Ormond frowned. Was that his imagination was mocking him again? "Marianne, we both know you will not be here tomorrow."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Because you are dead," said Ormond matter-of-factly. Saying that once before somehow made it easier to say this time._

_"Why on Earth would you think that? I really think you should sleep, Ormond. Your N.E.W.T.s are exhausting your mind. You look as though you have been through hell and back."_

_She didn't know the half of it. __Ormond then realized why she was regarding him suspiciously - he had never sought this much attention from her before._

_"Get some sleep," she repeated, patting her brother's arm._

_He shook his head. He didn't want to lose sight of her, for he feared the moment he turned around she would disappear._

_"I would rather stay here," he declared, and sat on the sofa._

_Marianne looked like she wanted to say something against the idea, but she wasn't one to argue with her older brother, and Ormond knew it._

_"If you wish to," she said quietly. She turned to go up the girl's staircase._

_"Where are you going?" asked Ormond._

_"To bed, of course."_

_"Stay here, please."_

_"Ormond, what has gotten into-"_

_"Please?"_

_Marianne's face softened. She longingly looked up the staircase one more time. Seemingly convinced, though, she returned to the fireplace. Ormond almost felt guilty at how little it took to convince her. Was it always that easy?  
><em>_  
>"Very well," she said in resignation.<em>

_Ormond had to look twice, but he was sure that a very tiny, almost playful smile upended the corners of her lips. It had been so long since he'd seen her happy that he'd forgotten how it looked on her._

_"I will not go anywhere, then," she said, and sat in the armchair across to face him. "I promise you."_

I promise you. _That comforting phrase again._

* * *

><p><em>When Ormond awoke the next morning, he groggily lifted his head and scanned the common room but Marianne was gone. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, squinting through morning sunlight shining in his face. Lying there for several minutes more, he concluded that his sister's appearance was a fevered dream. But a good one; as though he had been able to say goodbye properly, that he was given a chance to say everything he wanted. A lifetime's worth of things couldn't have been said in one night, but Ormond was still grateful, whether that was the real Marianne or not. The stone heart that he carried since her death had lightened considerably, cracking its hardened surface.<br>_

_Ormond coasted the rest of the day in his new, liberated state. He even skipped down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. Later, after dinner, he settled back into the armchair he sat in the previous night. With nothing to do, he decided to write another letter to Polly while Thaddeus and Georgina worked nearby on their homework together. Or at least they tried to appear to. Georgina giggled every once in a while during Thaddeus' story of the time he got caught, when he was a first-year, trying to use the Bubble-Head Charm to introduce himself to the merpeople in the lake, under the impression that they were the lovely creatures of muggle yore._

_Whilst writing, Ormond listened in during Thaddeus'_ _theatrical retelling of how Professor Bainblott spotted the partially-submerged child with a partially-complete Bubble-Head Charm, and then dove in after him._

**Dear Polly,  
>Unfortunate to hear about the rain back at home. It has been nothing but clear skies and sunshine at this end of the country.<br>**He wondered if that sounded like he was rubbing it in. He hoped it didn't.  
><strong>Amusingly, it is likely to only be a matter of time before the opposite is true.<strong>  
>Then again, perhaps she preferred wetter weather.<br>**I realize I have mentioned it before, even in our previous messages, but I truly cannot thank you enough for your offer. It not only speaks of your character, but also that you were willing to help me out in one of the most trying times of my life. Words cannot express my gratitude. You are a good friend to me, and I only wish that someday I will be able to return the favour.  
>Since you were curious, yes, my studies are back on track and I am working harder than ever. Our final exams commence next month and I dread them already! But I am much prepared.<strong>

_"And I was only punished for attempting advanced magic beyond my year! The merpeople never did give my shoe back."_

_Georgina covered her mouth to stifle her trilling giggles. Ormond grinned and raised his eyes briefly over the parchment at the both of them._

**Others not so much, it seems. It is apparent that my two schoolfriends are more occupied with other matters; namely eachother. I do not lack for entertainment, I know that for sure.**  
><strong>Looking forward to your next reply.<strong>

**Sincerely, Ormond**_  
><em>  
><em><br>He knew the letter was short and simple, but it would take some time to get reacquainted with Polly's conversation style. They had gone so many years without speaking to eachother that he figured the process had to be eased into, but he was satisfied with their progress. He was slowly regaining a friend._

_An hour later, Thaddeus turned in for the night. After speaking with Ormond for another half hour, Georgina bade him good-night as well and left to the seventh-year girl's dormitory. Because it was a school night, the common room emptied much quicker than the previous night. Soon, Ormond was left alone. He breathed in through his nose luxuriously, feeling more relaxed than he had in past weeks._

_After a few more minutes, Ormond strolled to the staircase to go to bed. Halfway up, a rustling sound reached his ears. With one foot hovering over the next step, he froze and his fingers tightened on the banister._

_"No..." he said._

_Succumbing to the impulse, he looked over the railing at the Lost and Found bulletin board, expecting exactly what he saw. Marianne's pale, smoky figure stood down there, pinning a note once again._

_"Marianne?" he said hesitantly._

_Just like the previous night, Marianne was startled and looked at him like she had been caught breaking a rule._

_"You are not supposed to be here!" Ormond hissed aloud, but the comment was directed more at his own mind._

_Marianne fidgeted, trying to explain herself. "Well, my schoolbag has gone missing, you see..."  
><em>  
><em>"Ormond?!" Georgina appeared at his side, clutching a robe over her night clothes. "What is the matter? Are you alright?"<em>

_Ormond glanced at Georgina and then back to the Lost and Found board, but saw nothing. He scanned the entire room, but Marianne was gone. He cupped a hand to his forehead. "I...I think I need to visit the hospital wing."_

_"Of course," said Georgina briskly._

_Without being asked, she linked her arm with his and escorted him out the portrait entrance and to the infirmary. He didn't need her to, he knew the way, but he took kindly to her thoughtfulness, or at least he would have if his mind wasn't buzzing. He was glad that she asked only a few questions about how he was feeling rather than the reason for the commotion. His mind was just too occupied. His nerves were stretched thin, and anxiety twitched his muscles restlessly like he had suffered a huge scare. Ghosts never spooked him, especially the Hogwarts kind, but this particular ghost utterly terrified him, for he couldn't tell if it was real or imagined.  
><em>  
><em>As he layed in the hospital bed, Madam Reeve arrived with another spoonful of the Calming Draught. Ormond welcomed it eagerly, slurping every last drop. Dropping his head onto the pillow, he watched the ceiling, welcoming the potion's effects. Pleasant warmth trickled down his throat and spread throughout his body. The tingling in his skin was disappearing, and his breathing slowed to a calm rhythm.<em>

_"Get some rest," instructed Madam Reeve. She closed the curtain around his bed and her clicking shoes faded away.  
><em>_  
>The Calming Draught soon became Ormond's escape. When he woke up the following morning he requested another spoonful, and then another as night fell, claiming he was still frazzled beyond comprehension. Madam Reeve mouth twisted in suspicion, but she didn't argue. Ormond told himself that each helping was the last one, he did not want to grow a dependence on the potion, but he needed it to distract him from Marianne. He was always the person with a plan, but he wasn't prepared to deal with this new problem presented. Or rather, the problem that continued to present itself to him.<br>_  
><em>Madam Reeve convinced him to leave on the third day, insisting that he checked out fine. Ormond made a few thin excuses, wanting just one more day, but couldn't put up the fight to argue or fake a new illness.<em>

_He coasted through his morning classes distracted - he kept expecting to see Marianne slinking around at any moment. During lunch he wasn't feeling very hungry and opted instead to take a nap. Entering the common room, he walked in to a not-so-pleasant not-surprise awaiting him.  
><em>_  
>"Marianne, what are you doing now?" he said plainly, throwing his bag onto the floor with a thunk. He wasn't in the mood to entertain his delusions today.<em>

_"My schoolbag has gone missing," she said._

_"That's what you said last time," sighed Ormond, massaging the bridge of his nose in frustration. He then paused. "...Marianne, what day is it today?"_

_"Erm..." She looked at the ceiling to jog her memory. "I believe it is the twenty-fifth."_

_"Of what month?"_

_"April, of course."_

_Ormond closed his eyes in defeat. April the twenty-fifth was her death date, certificate stamped and tombstone engraved. These recent hallucinations seemed persistent in rubbing that fact in._

_"Are you alright?" asked Marianne, noticing his expression._

_"Yes," he said shortly. A lie._  
><em><br>Marianne's behaviour over the next few days was strange. She kept going to her scheduled classes and avoided making eye-contact with Ormond in the halls - just like they always used to.  
><em>  
><em>Ormond feared for his mental well-being now more than ever. Enough was enough.<em>

_"Fiddlewiddle" he said before he knew it, standing at the stone gargoyle that guarded the staircase to Finbar's office. The gargoyle stepped aside and Ormond leaped for the stairs. He willed the spiraling staircase to end as he tried to outrun his imagination from conjuring Marianne on the steps. Thankfully, she didn't appear._

_Reaching the top, he ignored the brass door-knocker and raised his fist instead. It was late in the evening, but he was desperate and hoped that the Headmaster could squeeze in time._

_"You may enter," said Finbar behind the office door before Ormond could rap his knuckles on it._

_"Ah, Mr. Wilford," said Finbar professionally once he saw who walked in. He ceased writing and placed the quill on it's stand. "To what do I owe this visit."_

_Finbar saw himself as a practical man and did not adorn his office with trinkets, baubles, or any decorations besides the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses. An ornate fireplace, and an exquisitely carved desk, which he was currently seated behind, was all of the decoration he'd allow. Cheap distractions were a terrible time-waster in his eyes, and that a cluttered room was the sign of a cluttered mind. Even his quill was no-nonsense, stream-lined, and unadorned with patterns or frills.  
><em>  
><em>"Sir, I fear I am going insane," whispered Ormond, holding his hands behind his back and looking at the floor in mild shame. "I see her<em> everywhere, _and these visions will not go away! I have even spoken to the apparition on occasion, and it speaks back to me."_

_The Headmaster nodded placidly, understanding who Ormond was talking about. "My boy, you are perfectly sane, I can assure you," he said._

_"How do you know, sir?"_

_"For I have seen her too. She has made herself quite comfortable at her regular seat in the History of Magic classroom during school hours."_

_"But...how? Why!?"_

_Ormond was of two minds: one side was relieved to hear that he was mentally stable, but the other hungrily wanted an explaination._

_"Mr. Wilford, you are shaking," observed Finbar, "Take a seat, please."_

_Ormond did as he was told, taking the chair that faced the Headmaster directly across the desk._

_"Would you like some tea?"_

_Ormond shook his head. "No thank you," he said impatiently but with as much respect as he could still give. He wanted to know without delay why Marianne, or an imprint of her, was roaming the castle. He trusted Finbar's wisdom._

_"I shall do my best to explain what you want to know, Mr. Wilford, I have not forgotten, but I must insist that you take a cup. It will calm your nerves."_

_Finbar didn't wait for Ormond's response. He slid his wand out from his sleeve and conjured a tea kettle and two plain mugs. He tapped the teapot once and it's spout whistled with steam._

_"You mean this is something you have witnessed before?" asked Ormond_.

_"It does not always happen, but it is not unheard of."_

_Finbar poured both mugs and pushed one across the desk. Ormond reluctantly curled his fingers around the cup's handle, if only to appease the Headmaster. Finbar was right, however. Ormond sipped a bit out of politeness, but as the hot tea poured down his throat he instantly felt soothed. Though curiosity still made his skin itchy._

_"Now," said Finbar without prompt. He leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands on top of the desk. "You are wondering why you can see your departed sister. You are familiar with ghosts, correct?"_

_"I figured that much, sir," said Ormond courteously._

_"Then you are familiar with the reasons in which they may come back. I have my own thoughts on the matter, but first I must ask you, is it possible that Marianne has unfinished matters to attend to? Any regrets, things she wished she had done?"_

_Ormond opened his mouth to answer but was struck speechless when he realized that he did not know. He'd always been so wrapped up in his friends, his studies, his responsiblities, that he acted, unintentional as it was, like he never had a sibling. He couldn't remember the last time he asked her about anything other than her failing grades. And here he was now, feeling abandoned without her. Was this how Marianne felt all these years?_

_"I...I cannot say," answered Ormond, downcast._

_"I see. That is but one possibility, however. Was she at all vengeful? Was she wronged horrifically during her lifetime?"_

_Ormond knew she wasn't and swelled his chest in order to answer, but deflated when he gave the idea a second thought. He wasn't entirely sure of that either. Marianne hadn't shared her feelings with him since she was a first-year. He thought himself open to her troubles, but was she scared to approach him? He never wanted her to be afraid to come to him if she had a problem, but then again, he never expressly told her that. Perhaps he was the one who wronged her._

_"I cannot say for sure about that either," replied Ormond heavily._

_"I see..." Finbar trailed off as though he could see into Ormond's mind. "Then that leaves one last guess, and I think you may agree with me that this is most likely. Young Marianne simply does not know that she is deceased."_

_Ormond raised his head. "But that would not make sense, sir," he said despite wanting to accept that theory to alleviate his guilt. "How does a ghost not see themself as anything but when they look to their own hands, their bodies, a passing reflection? What if others inform the spirit that they are dead?"_

_"An excellent question, Mr. Wilford, and I believe that this is where situations such as these get complicated. To put it simply, a common theme with cases like your sister's point to a sudden, unexpected departure."_

_"Then...you mean to say that the cause of death was so sudden that Marianne has no idea it happened?"_

_"Precisely."_

_"I am afraid I do not completely understand, sir."_

_"Think of it this way. In cases like Marianne's, the spirit sees what it has always seen while alive: life as normal. They are not aware that they have left their own body. Had she suffered through, known, or awaited her impending death, the thought would be placed in her mind before her end. Clearly this did not happen, if I recall witness accounts correctly. Her mind continues to see what it has always seen, regardless of her new status. This is more common to victims of the killing curse."_

_"But wait, then that means...," Ormond gulped, "...that is why she continues to think she is attending school. She also cannot find her supplies for we brought them home."_

_Finbar nodded. "A very unfortunate effect."_

_"Will...will she ever rest in peace?"_

_"She must decide to rest of her own volition. But her situation is difficult. If she does not see herself as dead and thus cannot be convinced, and I apologize for telling you this, it is very possible that she may never lay to rest. Acceptance is one thing, something that many ghosts within this castle have difficulty with, but naiveté __is another."_

_Ormond couldn't meet the eyes of the Headmaster anymore. A numbness took over his limbs.  
><em>_  
>"Time has done exceptional things, however," Finbar asserted. "Rare cases are known in which the spirits slowly come to terms with their situation, not because they remember their death, but because of their remembrance of the past centuries that they have lived through."<em>

_"Centuries?!"_

_"Indeed, and longer amounts of time have been on record. Millennia even. It is unclear what triggers the ghost's slow gaining of understanding, but one theory goes that they somehow finally see their friends age and die while they do not, and wars that rage on for much longer than a human life span. But it is a distant hope. The large majority of these ghosts never see a glimmer of realization, therefore are doomed to walk the Earth for eternity."_

_"No..." Ormond buried his face into his hands. That was even worse than Marianne simply being dead. His sister, doomed to wander their mortal plane of existence alone, long after her family was dead, was a severely debilitating thought. His body shivered, and no amount of warmth from the nearby fireplace could stop the dreadful chill spreading through his blood._

_"I do apologize, Mr. Wilford," sympathized Finbar._

_"No," said Ormond, struggling to gain composure, "No, thank you, Headmaster, for this. If this is the truth, then I must hear it. Please, continue."_

_He would have begged to hear no more, he didn't want anymore nightmarish scenarios brought up, but he couldn't stay ignorant of Marianne's situation. He _needed _to hear everything._

_"I must ask you, Mr. Wilford, have you had any physical contact with your sister's spirit?"_

_"Yes, actually. I found it strange at first, thinking my imagination could manifest objects so realistically, but she is solid."  
><em>  
><em>Finbar nodded, having his thought confirmed. "Another effect of her mental state. It is all the power of thought. If a ghost legitimately believes they are still alive, their energy unintentionally incorporates that. If she sees and interacts with something familiar, she will act accordingly. It does not work well for ghosts who know they are dead."<em>

_"I see," said Ormond disappointedly, merely saying it for the sake of saying something._

_"Before I forget, I believe I should give you this," said Finbar, opening a desk drawer. He pulled out a brown paper-wrapped and twine-tied packet of sweets, signed:_

'To be shared between you both. With love, Mother and Father'_._

_"Professor Webb found it beside your sister. Three students claimed to have seen her carrying it seconds before the accident."_

_Ormond had forgotten all about the object Marianne was excited to show him. 'Ormond! Ormond, look!' she had said excitedly before the flash of green. He weakly reached to accept the package, then turned it at different angles to study. Marianne died wanting to show him only candy._

_"Sir?" he said._

_"Yes, Mr. Wilford?"_

_Ormond swallowed the lump in his throat. He clenched the small package tightly in his fist as his eyes darkened. "What of the Ravenclaw boy who did this to her?"_

_Finbar's face became impassive. "I understand your feelings towards Mr. Arlo Sprottle, therefore I feel I must make it _very_ clear to you, do not take it upon yourself to seek justice. He has been personally dealt with by myself."_

_The package's paper crinkled loudly as Ormond dug his fingers into it. "With all due respect, sir, I wish to deal with him myself."_

_"Mr. Wilford," said Finbar firmly, his eyes flashing in warning, "It is my sworn duty to protect every student on this school's premises. I will not divulge what Mr. Sprottle has privately confided in me. However, I do believe it is within your right to know that he has indeed been expelled, even despite expressing deep remorse. The Ministry is now involved, and he will stand trial. Your parents have also been informed. That is all you need to know for the time being."_

_That should have been enough to satisfy Ormond, but it didn't. Expulsion was not enough to appease his overwhelming desire to punish Marianne's murderer personally. He didn't believe the remorse part of the story one bit. Ormond remembered the Sprottle boy's defiant, prideful defense of using the terrible spell. To people like him, Marianne was simply stupid enough to get in the way._

_"You say not to look for him. That means he is still being housed in the castle?" asked Ormond, locking into a rigid position to keep from vibrating. His cooling cup of tea sat forgotten on the desk._

_"I will not answer anymore of your questions, Mr. Wilford. I see that I must reiterate my previous point: do not go looking for him. I must, and will, protect any Hogwarts student from harm. That includes Mr. Sprottle. And as of now, I feel as though he needs protection from you."_

_"That murderer!?" snapped Ormond, forgetting all manners to the Headmaster and then scoffing. "HIM being the one who needs protecting? And what of Marianne?! "_

_Finbar's mouth remained stern, but his eyes were soft from sympathy. "I comprehend your need for revenge, Mr. Wilford, I do, but understand that it would be a reflex act on your part. You merely crave the same amount of hurt be placed upon the individual who wronged you, but I promise you, you will not feel better, for Marianne will not return."_

_Ormond pursed his lips in embarrassed annoyance at having been spoken to like an impulsive, deluded youth. While he would have begged for Finbar's wisdom and insight minutes before, he now wished to turn it off. Finbar was right but Ormond didn't want him to be right._

_"It does not fix what has been done," continued Finbar, "But know that Mr. Sprottle is weighed down with much regret and the deepest sorrow, and has expressly wished me to inform you, and I quote, he understands that you will never forgive him, for he will never forgive himself."_

_Anger pulsated in Ormond's temple. He crossed his arms, unconvinced. Sprottle's apologies were nothing but empty words, regret for being the source of the accident but carrying no blame for any wrong-doing._

_"Is that everything you wish to know, Mr. Wilford?" asked Finbar after a moment's silence._

_"Yes," mumbled Ormond gruffly. It really was everything he wanted to know, but not the way he wished to hear it. He wanted Finbar to be on his side, to understand him. "I will show myself out, sir."_

_He politely bowed to the Headmaster and turned on his heel to the office door. He put his hand on the door knob._

_"Going back to the hospital wing?" asked Finbar._

_Ormond squared his shoulders. "Possibly."_

_The Headmaster nodded. "I shall inform Madam Reeve that you will be arriving. I advise that you get some rest."_

_"Yes sir."_

_"Unaided by the Calming Draught." Finbar's eyes bored into Ormond with a look so pointed that it could have pinned him against the wall, "It does not make the pain go away, Mr. Wilford, it only delays."_

_Despite the protest sitting on his tongue, Ormond nodded in understanding. He had never wanted to slip into oblivion forever, just temporarily, only until the emptiness went away. He supposed that if Finbar knew of his recent dependence on the potion, then Madam Reeve would surely bring any more doses to his attention._

_"Thank you for your time, sir," said Ormond wearily, opening the door._

_"Anytime you need me," said Finbar with a bow of his head. "I encourage you to come forward again at your first sign of discomfort. Remember that. I am here to help you, and will drop everything to do so. Understood?"_

_Ormond nodded._

_"Very well. Have a pleasant night," said Finbar sincerely._

_"You too, sir." Ormond closed the office door behind him._

_He descended the stairs in a daze. Once he reached the bottom, he sighed and leaned against the wall next to the gargoyle. He pressed his hands over his face in exhaustion, trying to make sense of Finbar's explaination. It did match Marianne's behaviour perfectly, but it made him sick to his stomach that this was to be her fate._

_Madam Reeve was waiting by the doors when Ormond finally arrived at the Hospital Wing. She didn't say a word, which he appreciated as he didn't feel much like talking. She guided him to a bed and left him alone to change. Madam Reeve didn't come back with a spoonful of the Calming Draught this time, meaning Finbar had already informed her. Ormond knew he couldn't keep taking it, but anxiety tingled his skin as he got into the bed. He wished desperately to have just one more dose. Just for one more night. Without it, he had a fitful sleep, tossing and turning with thoughts that refused to shut off. All night, horrible images cycled of Marianne cluelessly wandering the castle forever._

_Waking up, his body was badly cramped. He tried sitting up but his ribs responded in ache. Breathing was almost restrictive and tight. He groaned and layed back down. Bright afternoon sunlight streamed through the hospital wing window, causing him to squint. His eyes were caked, puffy, and stung sharply. No amount of rubbing got rid of the itch. His face felt a bit sticky and there were dark circles under his eyes.  
><em>  
><em>Listening to nothing but quiet, a monstrous urge raged in his chest as he recalled the details of his and Finbar's conversation, blinding him to everything. This Arlo Sprottle not only denied his sister life, but an afterlife with her family too. <em>

_Ormond ripped off the white bedsheets, huffing savagely through his nose. He ran to the infirmary's double doors and pushed them open so hard that the wood splintered when it hit the stone walls. Ormond leaped down the stone steps hurriedly, jumping over several to reach the landings faster. On one of them he tripped and fell, sprawling onto the landing on his stomach. His scraped, bloody chin didn't even faze him as he stood back up and tore for the Great Hall where the students were sitting to lunch. Before Ormond even entered through the tall doors, he was already searching the Ravenclaw table. His anger was so white hot that he skipped his target three times before his eyes finally registered him.  
><em>  
><em>"You!" snarled Ormond.<em>

_He tore into the chamber like a feral animal, grabbed an unsuspecting Sprottle by the collar, and dragged him off the bench and onto the floor before anybody in the room processed what happened. Ormond kneeled on the Ravenclaw's chest to keep him in place, raised his fist and started walloping Sprottle into the ground. Students within range screamed and scattered from their seats, too disoriented to help Arlo._

_"You killed her! YOU KILLED HER!" Ormond bellowed in rage, his muscles straining at every blow delivered. Arlo's pained yelps were stopped short at each one._

_The professors at the head table sprang out of their seats immediately._

_"Out of the way!" yelled Finbar, shoving through the crowd and pointing his wand, but the students were frozen and transfixed on the commotion. The teachers managed pushed their way through, the Headmaster finding the center. Two burly Gryffindors had rushed to Arlo's aid and pulled a flailing Ormond off, wary of his legs kicking wildly into the air._

_The tendons in Ormond's neck bulged and strained as he fought to free his arms._

_"This is what you have caused!" he screamed at Arlo._

"Petrificus Totalus!_" roared the Headmaster, breaking through the crowd. Ormond's body snapped straight like a plank. The two Gryffindors unlatched their arms as soon as Ormond went rigid and didn't bother to catch him as he went crashing to the floor._

_Arlo, terrified and staring in horror, weakly lifted himself onto one elbow while holding his bloody nose that bent sickeningly sideways. One of his eyes was already half-closed and swelling. He kicked his legs to propel himself further away. Seemingly unable to, he crumpled to lay on his side and tucked his knees in, shaking as though he were chilled to the bone. His eyes scrunched as he sobbed violently and sniffled blood that flowed from his nose and dripped onto the floor._

_"I'b sorry!" Arlo choked, "I'b so sorry." He pressed his palms to hide his eyes, and curled into a ball.  
><em>  
><em>Ormond urged to scream,<em> 'YOU THINK THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH?! You think your feeble apologies will bring her back!?' _but the spell paralyzed every bit of him, including his vocal chords.  
><em>  
><em>Dead silence gripped the Great Hall. Finbar's voice was ringing in everybody's ears. Some student's cheeks were still bloated with food but they were too shocked to chew. Panicked murmuring began, and then the whole chamber erupted in voices. Several of them stood over Ormond cautiously, like he was poisonous and liable to attack them as well.<br>_  
><em>Finbar seemed to be the only one under control. He motioned for Professors Webb and Tremblay.<em>

_"Escort Mr. Sprottle to the Hospital Wing immediately," he ordered. He signalled to Professor Bainblott. "Stay here and maintain order. I shall deal with Mr. Wilford myself."_

_Using his wand, Finbar levitated Ormond's petrified body out of the Great Hall and all the way to his office. Once there, Finbar lowered the boy onto the floor and released the body-bind._

_"Explain yourself," he commanded, crossing his arms. Despite his diminutive stature, he was absolutely intimidating._

_Ormond chose not to rise, for Finbar's stare held him to the ground and made him afraid to move._

_"You could not understand, sir," he answered, looking angrily at the floor._

_"What I understand is that you viciously attacked a student," snapped Finbar.  
><em>  
><em>"He had it coming. He deserved it."<em>

_"Mr. Wilford, I have told you once that I understand what has been taken from you. A family member being ripped away is a horrid, terrible thing I would wish upon no one. But I warned you of what retaliation would do to you, what it would make you. Mr. Sprottle's punishment is not for you to decide!"_

_"And why not?!" said Ormond, flattening his hands on the floor to attempt to rise. "It is ME who was been affected by his callous deed, why shouldn't I be the one to choose what he deserves? Why not my parents whose own daughter was taken so cruelly?"_

_"I will not allow violence and vigilantism within my school," snapped Finbar dangerously. "I do not think you understand that this is a serious offence."  
><em>  
><em>"HE KILLED MY SISTER! That is not a more serious offence?" Ormond got onto his feet and stared down Finbar's imposing look, ready to meet a challenge.<em>

_"It is the most serious of all," said Finbar, unintimidated and unblinking. "Which is why it is up to the Ministry. As I have assured you, Mr. Sprottle is not to return. As of now he is being temporarily sheltered here until transportation can be assigned, but he is never to set foot in this castle ever again. He has committed a grave action not only against the school but also a fellow student and human, and thus, I see it fit to be involved. Do not think of me as ignorant."_

_Ormond glared hard, clenching his jaw to keep his lips from quivering. His watering eyes gave him away, though. Surely Finbar noticed, but the Headmaster turned around to sit at his desk, giving Ormond some privacy to wipe his eyes. He wasn't sure if Finbar did it intentionally or not._

_"But the fact remains," continued Finbar, settling in the chair, "I cannot permit this kind of aggression from you."_

_"Are you expelling me?"  
><em>  
><em>Finbar's face was grim and gave nothing away. "I would never want to force any decision upon you. You are an exceptionally bright pupil, Mr. Wilford. Your intelligence and leadership is exactly why I appointed you Head Boy. However, I fear for your current state of mind. I wonder if, perhaps, you need some time to yourself, away from your current surroundings?"<em>

_Ormond nodded, figuring out what Finbar was offering: a chance to choose to leave the school willingly so that future expulsion wasn't an option if the fight was only the first of many. The choice wasn't an underhanded trick, it was a means to seperate Ormond from the causes of his agony; to protect him._

_"I now realize that there are too many painful reminders for you in this place," said Finbar. "If you wish to remove yourself from them, you need only ask."_

_Ormond exhaled through his nose roughly, looking at anything in the circular office but Finbar. It didn't help that there was really nothing in the room to pretend to focus on. He felt humiliated in the Headmaster's presence yet again, but also knew what he had to do. Seeing Marianne after all he knew now was too devastating, and he had already started avoiding her everywhere. It felt wrong to try and converse with her ghost form, for she wasn't whole. He didn't want an incomplete copy, he wanted her._

_And then there was Arlo Sprottle, the boy whom he detested even sharing the same country with._

_"I believe that is for the best," Ormond whispered more to himself than the Headmaster._

_"I agree wholeheartedly," nodded Finbar. "There is still a month to spare in the schoolyear, but I shall arrange for your written exams to be sent by owl, and an instructor will visit your home for practical tests."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Finbar extended his hand to shake, which Ormond weakly accepted._

_Returning to the common room, he explained everything to a dismayed Thaddeus who promised to visit him when school was over. During his last night in the dormitory, he had trouble sleeping and could not relax. He had never envisioned leaving the school he loved so much under these conditions. He always pictured leaving Hogwarts in bittersweet tears, looking fondly over his shoulder as the castle disappeared into the distance. But now, all he wanted was to go home._

_When he arrived at his house, he greeted his parents and went to visit the grave but saw it differently now. Marianne wasn't all there, a part of her was still back at the castle._

_Just as Polly promised, not only did she water and tend the flowers surrounding the grave, they flourished. He found her there, kneeling in the soil and patting the last of it down. Her black hair was parted into two braids, and her pale periwinkle dress was stained with smeared dirt.  
><em>  
><em>"Your mother approached me yesterday and said that you were arriving today," she said, looking over her shoulder and smiling. "Welcome back."<em>

_She dragged a hand across her forehead to wipe off sweat as she stood, and then dusted her hands off to greet him. Ormond held out his hand to shake hers, while she opened her arms for a friendly hug. They both paused for a moment and then compensated for the other; Ormond opened his arms while Polly extended her hand. Polly chuckled shyly while Ormond murmured an amused, awkward noise as he lowered his arms._

_"Well, what do you think?" she asked brightly, gesturing to the grave and unknowingly wiping another dirty handprint onto her dress._

_Ormond kneeled to get a closer look. He took in the bright flowers, their pristine, unmarred petals, and a fresh candle at the base of the stone. Not only were the flowers taken care of, but the surrounding grass was fresh and uniform._

_He almost frowned. This wasn't what he had asked for. He stood and faced Polly blankly. Her merry smile faded slowly._

_"You do not like it," she said sullenly, looking nervously between the grave's display and him. "Did I do something wrong? I can fix-"_

_Ormond's kiss silenced her._

_Polly's hard work was more than what he could have ever asked for.  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Two years later, I married her," said Ormond fondly, grinning toothlessly.<p>

Lanterns flickered and glowed warmly in the library, lit an hour ago when night fell. The drumming rain on the nearest window pane had subsided considerably, lightening to a drizzle. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched Ormond, transfixed.

"Our six children each attended Hogwarts," continued Ormond, "Though I never told them of their aunt's ghost residing in the school until all of them had completed their seventh year."

"How did Polly react to you being a wizard?" Ron smirked.

"Not well," chuckled Ormond lightly. "At first she was annoyed with me for thinking it humourous to toy with her about such things. Once I gave her a demonstration of magic, she became frightened and did not speak to me for weeks. We were engaged at the time, and she almost called off our wedding. Eventually I managed to talk to her, explain myself and tell her to not be afraid. It was slow, but about a month later she came around."

"And what became of Arlo Sprottle?" asked Hermione.

"Ah. True to Finbar's word, Sprottle was indeed expelled and stood trial. Marianne's death was ruled as accidental, but Sprottle's inconsiderate use of the spell, in addition of it leading to a child being killed, earned him some time in Azkaban. But Sprottle didn't serve a single day, for a deal was made by my family."

"But I thought you wanted to see him punished?"

"I did, my dear. I truly did. But I forgave him instead."

"You _forgave_ him?" said Ron incredulously.

Ormond nodded. "Believe me, it was not a simple decision. Sprottle was a haunted man, burdened by what he had done. The guilt I carried from not spending enough time with Marianne pained me greatly, but in Sprottle I saw his own guilt from unintentionally taking her life. I saw a heavyness more terrible than I could possibly imagine. At first I told myself that he deserved his sentence, and he probably did. I was positively smug with satisfaction as I watched Arlo shackled in chains and shaking horribly in fear during the proceedings. As he was escorted out afterwards, or dragged rather, I relished his every frightened scream with glee.

"And that was when I realized what had become of me. My vicious thirst for revenge turned me into a monster. The elation I felt from his pain filled me with so much enjoyment that I did not recognize myself. He threw himself onto his knees in front of me, begging me for forgiveness one more time. Keep in mind that he did not ask for a different punishment. He looked terrible, far removed from the egotistical boy I had once reprimanded. His cheeks were hollowed, and he looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. I looked down at him in disgust, like he was an ant I could easily crush under my shoe. It then dawned on me that Finbar was right; my need to see Sprottle destroyed was also destroying me on the inside. I looked to my parents and they wore the same unsure look as I did.

"Days later we came to the agreement that Sprottle would not be sent to Azkaban."

"That's it?" said Ron, "He never got in trouble?"

"Not necessarily. In exchange for not being sent to prison, it was conditional that Sprottle's wand be snapped in two and that he was forbidden to perform magic for the rest of his life. He accepted our bargain and relinquished his wand to the Ministry officials willingly. While not the punishment I would have chosen for him at the time, I agreed with my parents to do this. My bitterness had overtaken me to the point where I was feeling physically ill, and I knew I could not continue to live that way.

"Years later, after I had married and welcomed my first child, Sprottle requested to visit me. It was my hope that I'd never see him again, but his message sounded urgent, so I reluctantly agreed. Sitting on my porch, we talked the entire day. He told me of his life after I had last seen him, and he politely asked of mine. He recounted how, after being expelled from Hogwarts, he spent some time in St. Mungo's psychiatric ward. Reliving the accident consumed his mind, and he told me of how he could not rid himself of the image of Marianne's lifeless eyes staring at him, as though she were judging him eternally of his deed.

"Eventually he was cleared by the Healers and allowed to go home, but he was forever changed. Years later, he had also married, and even had a child of his own when he contacted me.

_"'So I beg of you, do not humour me,' _he implored. It was then that I saw the same hurt in his eyes all those years ago, '_I must know, for I will never rest easy without your answer. Is your forgiveness of me truly genuine? From the deepest, infinite reaches of your heart, can you forgive me of the hurt that I have caused you?'_

"I paused, staring at him scrutinizingly. I thought again of what Finbar told me as a schoolboy, that Marianne still wouldn't return if I exacted revenge the way I had wanted to. He was right. Living the rest of my life in bitterness would poison me. I had to leave it behind. I answered honestly. Yes, I did.

"Arlo sighed then, and freedom melted his features. He whispered '_Thank you'_, so overcome that be barely made a sound. And then he began to cry. He told me that I had given him a second chance when we did not send him to Azkaban. He thanked me that he could enjoy his wife and child, and that he owed his life to me and my family.

"Arlo left shortly before midnight, a new man. While I did truly absolve him of blame, I was still saddened that our closure did not change the fact that Marianne's soul could possibly be tethered to Earth forever. Many decades later in our old age, before my wife died, she told me that our family would not be complete when we all moved on into the afterlife - there was someone missing. When I would die, she agreed that I should return to Hogwarts and look after my sister to help her finally rest when the time came. And this I did. I have spent the last century wandering this castle to keep an eye on her."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence. Ron studied the scratch-marked table closely. Hermione rested her chin on her propped arm, tapping her fingers against her face in contemplation.

"It is not always bad for Marianne, however," said Ormond, noticing their gloomy looks. "Whenever a student needs help with History of Magic, it has been a floating Gryffindor rumour that she is the one to go to, and it does make her very happy to help students with the subject. Or even have people speak to her in general. And while she can only temporarily remember people, she seems to remember deeds for a short length of time."

"But I thought your Headmaster said that Marianne can't remember anything that comes after her death?" said Hermione.

"That is true, but I found that Marianne's is a strange case. After spending some years observing her, her memory seems to be sporadic. She can go almost a month with remembering a few new things, but I haven't quite figured out if a pattern is involved, or if it is just chance."

"So she will forget us eventually?" asked Ron.

"I cannot say for certain, young man. She will be unable to recognize you three by face after you've left this school. Based on my understanding, her sense of recognition might be triggered, but if you are not facing her in person, combining the fact that appearances mature over time, she will only remember what she knew and will not recognize you in older age. It is possible that she may faintly recall your names, or something similar, and perhaps will have some notion of what you did for her, but she cannot do it alone; it must be triggered by sight. She doesn't hear much about the world outside of Hogwarts, only what she hears in the school."

"That's why she continues to be so good at History of Magic, isn't it?" said Hermione excitedly. "She remembers historical events as if she were still in school because she keeps learning along with the centuries. Her classmates constantly change but she doesn't notice".

"Precisely," said Ormond proudly. "Just as she was in life, historical and events and dates come naturally to her."

"Do you think Marianne will ever know that she's dead?" spoke up Harry, having been quiet the whole time.

"I do not truly know," replied Ormond. "She has made a miniscule amount of progress since her two hundred or so years, but it is slippery. One moment, everything seems to be coming back to her, the next it can disappear. I do not mistake that as hope, however. But if it takes a millenium, I can wait. She is not ready yet, but if she ever will be, we will venture into the beyond together, and I will happily hold her hand the entire way. My biggest regret was never being there for my sister in life, but I will do everything to make up for it in death. For however long it takes, I will wait."

Ormond tilted his head sideways to glance at their abandoned yearbook on the table. "Now that you understand her condition, I must ask you, please do not show Marianne her portrait within this book."

"Why?" asked Ron.

Ormond smiled patiently. "Let me put it this way. How would you react if you found a photograph of yourself within a centuries-old book?"

"But wouldn't she just end up forgetting it?"

Ormond paused, forlorn. "Within a few days, probably, but it still hurts to see Marianne in that state. No matter how temporary, I do not wish to see that kind of reaction from her. I do not wish to cause her grief."

"Why don't you stay with her all the time?"

"In my experience, most people do not enjoy ghosts as company, especially if they keep trying to convince you that you are dead. No, I do not believe that is a good option."

Harry thought again of Moaning Myrtle following him throughout the day and fought a shiver down his spine.

Madam Pince was making her rounds, using her wand to extinguish lanterns, and shooing the last few occupants out of the library.

"We should go," said Hermione, closing the yearbook on Ormond's Head-Boy portrait. She left to go place it back on the shelf. Harry nodded and slung his book bag over his shoulder.

Ron stood from his seat. "Thank you for your time, sir," he said to the ghost.

"My pleasure, young man. Time is all I have," said Ormond kindly with a bow.

Hermione caught up with the boys and they walked to the entrance together. They turned around to wave goodbye to Ormond who returned the gesture.

"Kind of makes you feel a little guilty, doesn't it?" said Ron sheepishly, closing the library door behind him.

Harry thought the same, but two hundred years seperated them and Marianne's accident, too late to do anything. It made him feel small to think that he was merely a speck in the Hogwarts timeline.

Flickering torches illuminated the shadowy, empty corridor.

"Come on," said Hermione, "We should get to the common room before curfew."

"I'll meet you there later," said Ron, "I just erm...I need to find Ginny." His ears were turning pink.

They didn't mention it to eachother, but Marianne was no longer the wispy form they ignored in History of Magic. After her brother's story, it was as though she was a different being. An understood person.

* * *

><p>Ormond returned their wave.<p>

"Take care," he said pleasantly, watching their backs as they exited the library.

He thought it best to be on his way as well. Clasping his hands behind his back, he was about to glide through the wall behind him when a tapping sound rattling the closest window. An owl, soaked to the bone, stood on the sill and was drumming it's beak against the glass. Ormond glanced around but no one else was alerted to the noise. Unwilling to leave the poor animal in such dismal weather, Ormond unlatched the window. The owl swooped in, dripping water everywhere and then landed clumsily on the nearest table. It dropped a rolled up piece of parchment from it's talons and then shook its feathers out, sprinkling everything within range. Ormond grabbed the parchment to keep it from getting wet.

While it was terribly rude to read other people's mail, he couldn't tell who it was for on the outside, so he unrolled it.

**Dear Mother and Father,**

**Very sorry for not writing in a long time. I know you told me to write at least twice a month, but I haven't much new to tell. Ormond making it to Head Boy this year has really kept him busy. I find myself missing him more and more, like I lost a friend. I know I never tell him how much I appreciate being his sister (please don't tell him I said that! I will never hear the end of it).  
>Everything is fine. I would love to hear from you both again soon. And Mother? If you could please knit me another jumper, I will write twice as much! Hope it is warm where you both are.<strong>

**Love always,**

**Marianne**

If Ormond still had breath, he would have sighed sadly. Marianne was still of the mind-set that he cared little for her, a sure sign that she was nowhere near coming around yet. But it warmed his heart, if he had one, that despite his treatment of her in life she seemed to still carry a fondness for her brother. With each letter he recieved, his mission became renewed.

The owls, like most of the animals at the school, had a heightened sense of ghosts and knew Ormond was the only one to send her notes to, but it was not always smooth. They occassionally got confused, due to the recipents not being alive, and discarded them. He was grateful, though, to recieve as many as he could get. The letters brought comfort, letting him know that their family was still in her thoughts.

Madam Pince extinguished the last lantern. Ormond glided through the library's entrance door that she had just opened. He could have floated through a wall, but that meant leaving the letter behind, and he wanted to add it to the collection that he kept in a small, secret alcove on the fourth floor, behind the floor-length portrait of Sir Fitzroy the Ironhearted.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew! Forget everything I said before about the previous chapters being long and hard to organize, because THIS one...oh boy, this one. Sure, it looks uniform and free-flowing now, but it sure didn't start out that way. It was a clunky abomination with jigsaw-like pieces everywhere when I started. My longest chapter EVER, and it took months to perfect...and then you all read it within ten minutes. Isn't that the way it always goes? xD**

**If anyone was curious as to why Marianne's language in the first four chapters seem more modern than the time she was raised in, I was going to explain it above but I couldn't find any place to fit it. So I'll explain it here. Her language evolves with the times. She can retain ever-changing inflections and words she learns along the years and adapt to them because of constant exposure.**

**Don't be afraid to ask questions or point plot holes out to me. I could have totally missed something important. You'd be doing me a favour. ****We're almost at the end, guys. Just one more chapter to go.**


	8. Three Years Later

The Death Eaters had finally broken through the barricades and were storming the castle. The Battle for Hogwarts wasn't beginning, it was already there.

Marianne couldn't hear the chaos several floors below for she was in the Gryffindor dormitories, tearing it apart desperately to find her wand to protect herself. Bright red bed sheets curled on the floor, drawers were flung from their dressers, and trunk contents littered the ground, but she couldn't find it. She would have been the first to admit that she was no fighter - her Defence Against the Dark Arts grade was abysmal - but she couldn't be a sitting duck either.

_No. Not couldn't. Wouldn't._

Marianne's shoulders strained under the weight of her sudden self-realization. Her fingers loosened on the clothes she was rummaging through.

_Come on,_ urged that hidden part of herself, _your brother can't always be there for you. Let go of his hand. You have to._

The last time she'd seen him he was sleeping on one of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room, but that might've been a couple hours ago. He was long gone. She could have searched the common room an endless amount of times, but Ormond wasn't likely to be there, not when their school was under attack. She knew her brother well, he would've thrown himself headlong into battle. Did he know she was still here in the castle? Would he come back for her? Unless he was already de - no! She shook her head, refusing entry of that horrible thought into her mind. It still remained, however. It's dark, looming presence hovered out of sight but not out of mind.

Marianne couldn't stay in the Gryffindor common room anymore. The merry fire crackling to an entirely empty room was a haunting image that suffocated her. Fear caused by waiting alone with no news was too overwhelming, she had to find Ormond. They would leave together or not at all.

Slipping out of the Fat Lady's portrait, Marianne crept in the shadows. The upper floors of the castle seemed to be deserted as she ran into no one. That still didn't mean that she was going to walk out in the open. Everytime she met a corner, she peeked around it ever so cautiously.

When she got to the fifth floor, a gigantic boom outside the castle rattled the windows around her. She threw herself onto the ground, fearing the windows would explode into shards, but they held.

When Marianne got down to the fourth floor, she had to stop when she realized that with every step she was getting closer and closer to danger. Fear seared her veins so bitingly that it sent cold waves through her body; so much that she was afraid of solidifying with the stone floor. She wrapped her arms around her middle and huddled into a ball to stop the sensation, but it was the type of chill buried so deep within that it was impossible to warm. She had never known this breed of debilitating fear, the kind that kept one back on Earth no matter how much they willed the world to momentarily disappear. People were going to die tonight. People were going to die and nobody could save them all. There was no hope to begin with.

Bright, flickering torches lit the corridor walls at intervals. Shadows danced wickedly on the familiar walls, giving them a foreboding effect, as if they knew the horror happening down below and had sided with the Death Eaters. Marianne straightened. The idea repulsed her, she could not allow it. She would vow to keep Hogwarts hers.

Despite risking vulnerability by being out in the open, Marianne cautiously set to work and extinguished all but two torches, each on opposite ends of the hall - the only exits. Now she would be able to see anyone before they saw her. Innocent students were _not_ going to die in her territory tonight. They would have to get through Marianne Agnes Wilford first.

She dragged two wooden tables out from one classroom, and then closed every door within the corridor. Taking the tables mid-way into the hall, into the darkness, she set them jutting out from the wall in a triangular shape so that she would hide between them and be protected from both sides. This was to be her look-out post. It was crude - two-inch thick wooden tables were little in ways of protection - but it was still a barrier and a better option than standing out in the open. The one on her left even had a handy peep-hole to keep watch on the western entrance without having to expose part of her head.

The makeshift fort was almost complete. She approached one of the suits of armour lining the walls and began to dismantle it, collecting the larger plates, the shield, and anything else of use. She could never wear them, the armour would have swallowed her whole, but the pieces were useful as blunt instruments in case of attack. In the absence of a wand, this was all she could improvise. Careful not to make the metallic ends clatter, she set them down gently into her hide-out and then sat down with her back against the wood, keeping the shield especially close.

Waiting was agonizing. The surrounding quiet was so stifling that Marianne couldn't get rid of the feeling of cotton in her ears, and it made her afraid that she'd miss the tiniest sound from being too accustomed to silence. The loneliness of sitting there allowed thoughts into her head. Terrible timing it was, for Marianne wanted no distractions, but when faced with the possibility that she may not survive the night, images barged in uninvited. She could see her lifeless body underneath a white sheet, lying on the dining room table in her home. She could see it so clearly within her mind that it almost seemed like a premonition. She shifted uneasily but curled her fingers tighter on the knight's shield.

Earlier that evening she had missed the school's evacuation of the younger students even though she was standing in the Great Hall during You-Know-Who's chilling speech. With her limited experience in dueling and Defence, Marianne knew she was a liability and thus had no choice but to evacuate, whether or not she chose or be allowed to stay and fight - which she didn't even have time to ponder. House alliances were long forgotten, prefects herded as many children as they could.

Marianne was in line when she noticed that she couldn't see Ormond anywhere. Not willing to leave without knowing, she left the line and craned her head. She remembered seeing him sleeping in the common room a while ago. Scared that he was still there, she left the Great Hall and bounded up the stairs. Nobody stopped her.

Once she reached the Gryffindor common room, it was empty, and she chastised herself for being so stupid to leave the Great Hall. A echoing boom thundered from outside. Marianne ran to the window and could see Voldemort's army awaiting them. She needed her wand to protect herself, but it was nowhere to be found.

Hurried footsteps shuffled from the corridor's eastern entrance. They were coming fast. Marianne didn't have time to get into the right state of mind, she quickly ducked and crouched on the balls of her feet like she was about to spring. Risking a peek, she leaned to the side of the wooden table and watched. The footsteps stopped. A hand holding a mirror appeared from around the corner and turned at an angle several times. It then retreated and disappeared.

"Somebody snuffed out the torches," somebody whispered. "Could be an ambush."

There was a drawn out pause. Then the voice spoke again. "Ready your wand."

Another voice - female this time - answered fretfully, "Be careful."

A stout boy, most likely a sixth or seventh year, peeked around the corner. He edged cautiously into the corridor and kept to the wall, squinting and trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness inbetween the lights.

He raised his wand to the torch above him and whispered, "_Aguamen_-"

"Stop!" Marianne commanded. She needed that torch.

The stout boy stopped dead in his tracks and raised his hands in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, easy," he said quickly.

Marianne had to squint to see him better. He was wearing a set of Hogwarts robes. True to how she predicted, she could see him but he couldn't see her.

"State your name," she said forcefully, leveling her voice to make herself seem bigger than she really was.

"Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff prefect," he answered in an official tone. "Who are you?"

Marianne remembered him from the library a couple days prior, he had spoken to her. He knew where her loyalty stood. She emerged slowly from her hiding spot, holding the knight's shield protectively just in case the boy was a Death Eater in disguise. To Ernie it looked as though she had materialized out of thin air.

"Oh, it's only you," he sighed, and lowered his hands. He then motioned around the corner. "Hannah, it's okay."

Marianne's spirit sank. She knew she wasn't one to be taken seriously, but Ernie's instant lowering of his guard didn't do much for her already fragile confidence in upholding her speck of territory. A blond girl emerged from the corner, wand poised as she pivoted quickly to view the ceiling, then her surroundings.

"The ghosts have been making themselves useful as well?" she asked Marianne urgently.

Was Marianne supposed to know? "I - I haven't seen any, if that's what you mean," she said, her speech slipping back into habit, "I just came down from Gryffindor tower."

"Well, if you do see them, tell them that we appreciate any help," said Ernie.

Evident by their tone, Marianne was better suited to a messenger who stayed out of sight. She wasn't supposed to be part of this battle, it was true, but their writing off of her effort so far was deflating her pride.

"Is it safe down there?" asked Ernie, pointing past the darkness.

"Yes," said Marianne, "I've been here for a while. I heard nothing."

"Good. Keep down the fort here," instructed Ernie. "Come on, Hannah."

The pair ran down the end of the hallway and disappeared around another corner, leaving Marianne all alone again. She ducked back into her hiding place, running the Hufflepuff's words over and over in her head.

Seconds stretched into long minutes. Marianne wouldn't change her position with her knees tucked up to her chin. She felt that any physical movement was a distraction she couldn't afford.

Fifteen long minutes had gone by since Ernie and Hannah's departure when footsteps padded in the lit western end of the hallway. Marianne started and raised herself to her knees to look through the peep-hole. Illuminated under a torch, two Death-Eaters skulked into view, their skull masks discarded for better visibility. Marianne sat back down, rested her head against the board and closed her eyes for one contemplative second to gather her courage. In her heart was a stirring, an awakening. She'd never known a time when she'd felt so afraid, so vulnerable, so alone...so alive. For this is what it truly meant to be so. Her senses were hyper-aware; she could taste the air, touch the sound of the incoming footsteps, smell impending doom.

She lowered her chin to rest on her chest. _This wasn't supposed to be how it ended_, she thought. She was only thirteen, this was suicide.

_You're counting yourself out too soon, _Imagined Ormond's encouragment somehow broke through her loud thoughts.

Marianne nodded, trying to picture the actual Ormond standing before her and saying those words. When the timing was just right, she clenched her jaw and swung the shield upwards mightily, clanging the closest Death Eater right in the face.

"AAAUUUGGH!"

In unison with the Death Eater's yelp of pain, Marianne's cry tore through her throat as she leaped from her hiding place and swung her plates of armor like a mad wind-mill. Her outburst accelerated her limbs, giving adrenaline-fueled power to her movement and strength. She twisted her body to wind up for another hit which smacked dead-on with the second Death-Eater's ear, sending them careening sideways. Marianne didn't wait, she immediately tossed a plate into the second Death Eater's mid-section, who was stunned for a split second, but that was all Marianne needed.

"Oof!" cried the second Death Eater (audibly male). He dropped his wand in mid-rise and doubled over.

The Death Eater whom Marianne attacked first had already righted himself. "What the hell?!" he roared, squinting in the darkness to find who ambushed them. Without waiting for his eyes to adjust in the dark to search for the threat, he raised his wand and pointed it back and forth, unsure who was who. "Rookwood!"

"Over here," called the second Death Eater a couple of feet away from Marianne. He gave away her position! Marianne quickly backed away like a cornered animal.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" snarled the first Death Eater, Rookwood. A streak of light shot directly at Marianne, illuminating her frightened expression and the entire hallway in a bright green tinge. With lightning reflex she twisted to avoid it, but a force of energy grazed her right-side ribs, she felt it. Her eyes widened as she stood deathly still, waiting. Her hand flew to her side searchingly, but it felt solid. She hadn't dropped dead. If she were able to even think at this moment then it missed. Narrowly.

A rushing sensation pumped through her body. Her heart must have been vibrating incredibly fast for she couldn't feel her heartbeat. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkly silver moonlight finding it's way in through windows and crevices, and she could see the second Death Eater's face scrunching in anger.

"Get away, you pest!" cried the second Death Eater, swatting at her like she were smoke.

Marianne jumped just out of reach, then planted her feet firmly on the ground and held the shield in front of her. A whimper was snaking from her stomach and making it's way up her throat. "No," she told the Death Eater defiantly, crushing the whimper in her vocal chords, feeling it disintegrate and disappear.

"Go to hell, you little -!" Rookwood was cut off when a knight's helmet flung out of nowhere and crashed into his face. Given the other Death Eater's moment of startled confusion, Marianne followed the trajectory to find out where it came from. The ghost of the old man with only three teeth faded into view with an enraged look on his face, holding a suit of armour's sword up high.

"Speak to her like that again and I will slice you to ribbons!" he wheezed harshly. He didn't need his voice to be strong, just his concentrated energy to handle the sword.

Rookwood was on the floor, holding his bloody nose. Upon seeing the sword he yelped and scrambled to his feet and ran the way he had entered, leaving behind his partner. Ormond faced the second Death Eater with the same expression, the sword glinting menacingly. The second Death Eater whimpered as he tripped backwards, wand clattering to the ground as he fell, and layed there cowering. Ormond raised his weapon, looking his enemy dead in the eye, then brought the sword down and cut the Death Eater's wand in half.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" he bellowed. The Death Eater obeyed and quickly bolted after his friend.

Marianne's eyes were saucers."That...that was incredible, sir," she said awestruck, many seconds after the Death Eaters disappeared. "You saved me."

The ghost faced her, the rage barely faded from his eyes. "I would never allow them to get near you."

"Hold on," Marianne said suddenly, "It's not safe here out in the open. Follow me."

She led him to her makeshift hideout in the center of the corridor. She sat down behind the table and Ormond floated down next to her.

"What do you think you are doing here, child?" he asked.

"I didn't make the evacuation," Marianne explained, leaning her shield against the wood, "And my wand was stolen. I was backed into a corner, I - I didn't know what else to do! I barely even know what I'm doing now, I know nothing of combat. But...I couldn't simply wait until these Death Eaters finally caught me, curled into a ball on the floor. This is now my area. I've sworn to myself to defend it. I can't allow this castle to be claimed by those...horrible people."

"You are only thirteen, you know." It didn't matter that she was already dead, Ormond felt he had to remind her that she was awfully young to try to be taking charge.

"I know," she said, downcast.

"But I admire your spirit," said Ormond, not wanting her to think that he was chastising her. On the contrary, he was quite proud. Prouder than he ever had been in his sister.

"Thank you, sir," she said humbly. She didn't believe that she would hold down the area for an entire night, but his words kickstarted a small spark in her chest that maybe it was possible.

A quiet moment followed.

"I was wondering if you could do a favour for me, sir," said Marianne.

"And what would that be?"

"Could you relay a message to one of the teachers to deliver to my family? You know, if I don't...if I don't make it home?"

"Do not say that, of course you will." This was not a time where Ormond wanted to tell her that she was dead. Not because she was already a ghost, or that she had already been told countless times before, but because it'd break her determination. She was giving every effort she could in this moment, something he had seen so rarely in her before.

"Please?"

"Very well, then."

Marianne paused a moment to collect her words. _How does one put their entire life's meaning into their last words? _she thought.

"My father is the strongest man I've ever known, you know," she began, "Not only in strength but in spirit. He has never approved of my struggling marks, and I just wish that there could have been one point in my life where I made him proud of me."

Ormond nodded. It had been a very long time, but could still easily recall their father's goal of wanting his children to be given every opportunity for success. While strict, he _was_ proud of having Marianne for a daughter no matter how many times she failed, he merely didn't make enough time for her to see it, something that Achilles Wilford regretted to his dying day. He never expected his child to be taken away from him without warning. If only Marianne had seen his anguish, she would've known then that everything Achilles did was out of love for his children.

"And mother. I know she fusses a great deal, wants me to stand up straighter, be braver. I suppose I never really saw it until now but I know she does these things out of love."

Ormond nodded again. "I'm sure she does..." It broke his heart to remember their mother's grief-stricken wailing during the funeral.

"And my brother Ormond. He has been worrying me lately, to be honest. A few nights ago we were in the Gryffindor common room and he looked terribly upset. He was crying when he found me in the common room, saying over and over that he thought me dead."

Ormond whipped his head up. "...What? What did you say?"

"I know," said Marianne, misunderstanding his incredulousness, "I thought it an odd thing to say at the time, too, but NEWTs are coming soon, I'm convinced he was over-stimulated - "

Ormond almost wasn't listening to her. He strained to remember how a beating heart felt, because if he had one it would have been racing. That incident she recalled in the common room, probably over two hundred years ago by now, happened _after_ her death. She remembered it!

"- I never want to see him like that again."

Ormond struggled to keep his rapture behind a neutral face. "I see..."

"You don't know my brother," she continued, "He has never broken down in front of me, not since we were children. It scared me. I never imagined my brother as vulnerable, it was impossible to, but the clarity it brought was eye-opening. We aren't necessarily close, but I know he's not spiteful. He doesn't know this, but I look up to him still, even if I had to act the role of the stronger sibling for that one time. And I want him to know that even though he doesn't like my company, I do not hate him for it. I feel as if my own clarity is coming to me. I once thought of him as an idol where I now see a human-being. It's like...it's like I finally see him eye to eye now."

"You mean, one doesn't need to be stronger than the other any longer, for you both can assume the role for eachother when needed?" finished Ormond, blinking away silvery tears.

"Yes. Yes, exactly. I don't feel so seperated from him anymore, as if we are on the exact same level, and now the love I have for my brother is even stronger. I haven't seen him for days, but I know he's here, I _know_ he stayed behind tonight and is fighting somewhere in this castle. I'm not sure if he's looking for me or not, but-"

"He wouldn't forget you," affirmed Ormond, "Perhaps he's even looking for you right now."

Marianne pursed her lips in thought. It was a very nice feeling to picture Ormond in the throes of battle while simultaneously asking anyone if they'd seen his sister. If that was the case, then she would do the same. She would not rest tonight until they were reunited. She would even rescue him if she had to.

"Thank you for listening," she said to the old ghost sitting next to her. "When you can get word out, if we lose this war, please tell my family what I just told you."

Ormond clenched his jaw to keep himself together. He smiled so widely that his bare gums showed. "They will know. I promise you."

Marianne's lips quivered as she nodded. "Thank you," she said.

Tears glittered in her eyes but she refused them permission to fall. She was aware of the ghost of the old man staying with her, but she could think of no natural progression of their conversation that they could take after that. Instead they both fell quiet and listened, but it was a comfortable silence. Marianne felt safe with him around and glad that if these really were the closing moments of her life - it was likely, she had no wand - then she wouldn't go to the grave without her family knowing that her final burst of bravery was for them, for freedom, to the bitter end.

A rumbling echoed deep down the corridor's western entrance. Seemingly a hundred voices were screaming spells, followed by deafening booms and crackling sounds of stone exploding. The battle was coming fast. Marianne mentally prepared herself for the second round by tightening her grip on her improvised weapons as the noise got louder and louder. Dueling Death Eaters and students emerged from the western corridor.

Marianne looked to the ghost of the old man, possibly for the last time.

"For Hogwarts," she told him, and then leaped from her hiding place and threw herself into the chaos.

_THE END_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And we are done! I feel so accomplished. Thank you to all my loyal readers. No really, **_**thank you, thank you,**_** this story wouldn't be what it is without you all. Give yourselves a pat on the back. A very special thanks to my reviewers, Sayakami (formerly Madokaism), Kelly, The Agent of Fire, katchile94, Penseln, michlovescookies281, and everyone who favorited and alerted. I couldn't have done it without you guys! Thanks for being so patient with me.**

**I know some people were wondering why Marianne was put into Gryffindor at all, and I really hope this explained it. It was my intention all this time to sort of pull a Neville-in-Gryffindor kind of thing where it's hidden deep, deep down.**

**Trivia Time:**

**-Marianne's parent's names, Achilles and Tristeza, literally mean "Pain" and "Sadness", respectively.**

**-Originally, this story was going to take place in Harry's fourth year, but there was so much going on in the Goblet of Fire that it was hard to find a place to shove in a short little story, much less one that was as close to canon as I could possibly get. Harry just didn't seem to have ANY time for a little sub-plot in it. Marianne was supposed to be the reason why the Triwizard Tournament was cancelled around 400 years ago (she wasn't a Champion, she just accidently got in the way), but I couldn't make it work, so I decided to have this story begin at the end of third year instead.**

**-Originally, the ending was going to be more heartbreaking instead of just bittersweet. Instead of talking to Ormond, the trio would find all this out from a sympathetic Fat Friar in one epilogue chapter, no flashback. Ormond wasn't a ghost in the castle, just a mentioned person who was long dead. But I thought that ending was awfully grey and dismal, and that I could add in a little hope. If this story had an entirely sad ending, I didn't want readers to think it would make the whole thing seem like a waste of time. So I added just a few less depressing things in there to perk up the story a pinch.**

**Phil Collins' "You'll be in my Heart" was the inspiration for a lot of Ormond's dialogue. If this were a movie and I had to choose an end credit song, that would be it.**

**As always, please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! It really helps me improve my writing when readers let me know how I'm doing. And remember, just because the story's over doesn't mean I can't make any changes or still take in reviews.**

**Hope you all enjoyed!**


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